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A 

JUNIOR 
IN THE LINE 


T. Tr uxtun Hare 

Author of 

A SOPHOMORE HALF-BACK 
MAKINGTHE FRESHMAN TEAM 


Illustrated by Ralph L Boyer 



THE PENN PUBLISHING 
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 
MCMIX 


: CL 




a- 


COPYEIGHT 
19 09 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 




Vis' Cl, A 2511 IS 


INTEODUCTION 


Bob Walters and his friends, Trelawney, Liv- 
ingston, and Newton, as was told in ‘‘Making 
the Freshman Team” and “A Sophomore 
Half-Back,” ha\e been students for two years 
at Warrington University, one of the larger of 
the eastern colleges. Bob, Trelawney, and Liv- 
ingston are roommates. Bob has from his 
Freshman year been a candidate for the foot- 
ball and track athletic teams of the University. 
An injury kept him out of the big game of the 
Sophomore year, though he won a place in the 
quarter mile at the “Intercollegiates” in the 
following spring. Trelawney and Newton have 
also scored athletic successes. Livingston’s in- 
terests have been in scholarship and the quieter 
delights of college life. 

Now they are all Juniors. Bob and Trelaw- 
ney in the Sophomore year indulged in a boyish 
prank that caused heavy damage. But they 


INTRODUCTION 


earned the money, paid the bill, and learned a 
valuable lesson. 

Bob has a still harder fight to make in the 
Junior year, but he wins, as before, because a 
stout heart, kindness and common sense will 
win over almost any obstacle. This story, like 
the others, touches nearly all sides of college 
life. Bob’s last year at Warrington and his 
last game against ‘‘Essex” will be found in 
“A Senior Captain.” 


Contents 


CHAP. PAGE 

I Football Practice . . 9 

II The Straight Arm 23 

III Bob’s New Position 36 

IV Making the Best of It 46 

V The Great Game 56 

VI Bob’s Run 68 

VII Who’ll be Captain?” 82 

VIII Bad News 90 

IX Looking for Work 100 

X The Furnace Man no 

XI A Fighting Chance 118 

XII ‘^Warrington Wins” 132 

XIII A Tough Problem 139 

XIV Bob’s Decision 147 

XV The Honor System -^59 

XVI A Pleasant Prospect 168 

XVII Bob is not Sure 175 

XVIII The Front Platform 185 

XIX Spring Politics 203 

XX “May the Best Man Win” 213 

XXI Above the Dam 224 

XXII Bob Takes a New Contract 241 

XXIII We’re Off 250 

XXIV On the Other Side 261 

XXV A Hot Quarter-Mile 269 

XXVI Across the Channel 283 

XXVII McLane’s Mishaps 291 

XXVIII The Olympic Games 299 

XXIX A Tug of War 31 1 

XXX A Debt Paid 320 


i 


A JUNIOR IN THE 
LINE 

CHAPTER I 

FOOTBALL PRACTICE 

‘^Eah; rah; rah; Warrington; Warrington; 
Warrington/^ The cry rose and fell on the 
chilled air of a perfect autumn afternoon. The 
shrill voice of the quarter-back rose now and 
again between the cheers, only to be drowned 
again by the swift enthusiasm of the spectators. 

It was the opening of the football season at 
Warrington University, and though the stands 
were more than half empty, those spectators 
who were present represented the most critical 
and enthusiastic of the many who acknowledged 
allegiance to the White and Black. 

The sidelines were crowded with an anxious 

9 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

gathering of coaches and alumni, who, notwith- 
standing their glee when some veteran showed 
glimpses of his last year’s form, in the main 
shut their eyes to the successful plays and 
watched like hawks for each sign of weakness 
which, when discovered, sent them hunting hur- 
riedly for their pencils to jot down a note of the 
error. 

‘‘They look pretty good to me,” said Wilson, 
a former captain and now head coach, as the 
teams left the field at the end of the first half. 
“Bagged, of course, but powerful, and with a 
fair amount of football brains. I see no reason 
why we shouldn’t have a successful season.” 

“Unless we run up against another bit of 
hard luck, like last year,” said his companion 
shortly. 

“That was hard luck and no mistake, Green- 
ough. But then, fate was against you all the 
year. There was a hoodoo somewhere. No 
captain could have done more than you did 
under the circumstances. So don’t blame 


10 


FOOTBALL PRACTICE 


yourself. To be scored on, as you were, in the 
first five minutes of play, through a fumbled 
punt, was enough to take the heart out of any 
team. You did mighty well to hold Essex to 
the one score. You can wipe that all out any- 
way by turning out a winning team this fall. ’ ’ 

‘‘I don’t believe you will need my assistance 
there.” 

‘‘I am not at all certain that I can stay the 
full season. I have a good opening out in Chi- 
cago, and I may be called on any day. In that 
case all the glory will be yours.” 

‘‘Oh, you mustn’t do that,” cried Greenough 
in alarm. “We could never get on without 
your advice.” 

“Well, we will have to think it over. I want 
to see Morton about the game while my mind 
is still fresh on those weaknesses.” 

They stepped into the dressing room, where 
the team was resting. The rubbers were busy 
washing the men’s faces and fanning them vig- 
orously. 


II 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Come here, Morton,’’ called Wilson across 
the crowded room, “and yon too, Trelawney,” 
he added. 

“1 am satisfied with the work of the team as 
a whole,” he said rapidly, “but the work of the 
line is none too good. Now, you two are the 
oldest, and I expect more from you on that ac- 
count. I know it is only the first game of the 
season, and the work of a captain naturally 
handicaps you a little, Morton, but Trel hasn’t 
that excuse. You don’t show enough life. 
The whole line is waiting for you to lead, and 
I want you to tear things up for ten minutes 
when you go out again. Don’t be afraid of 
tiring yourselves. I’m going to take you out 
anyway in ten minutes ; so rip them up. ’ ’ 

“Time’s up,” called the referee from the 
door, and the second half was on. 

Obeying instructions, Trelawney proceeded 
to exert himself, with the result that he was not 
altogether sorry when a substitute was sent out 
to relieve him. Several other changes were 
made at the same time, and with his room mate. 


12 


FOOTBALL PRACTICE 


Bob Walters, the left halfback, he ran back to 
the gymnasium, where they placed themselves 
in the hands of the rubbers. 

The two friends were juniors. Fondness for 
athletics had brought them together in their 
freshman year and they had been bosom com- 
panions ever since. Trelawney had made the 
Varsity football team in his freshman year, and 
had likewise made something of a reputation 
as a hammer thrower, but as a student was the 
despair of his teachers. In fact, it took all 
Bob’s persuasion to make him study enough to 
stay in college. Walters, on the other hand, 
though not brilliant, was a steady worker and 
by that characteristic was able to take a higher 
place in his classes than many others more 
gifted. The same attribute was noticeable in 
his athletics. Steadiness was his chief card, 
and as is always the case, being prepared for 
anything, he at times was able to take advantage 
of his opponent’s misplays, which made him an 
invaluable man. This quality the coaches had 
been quick to recognize, with the result that he 

13 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


had ‘‘made left halfback’’ in his sophomore 
year. A sprained ankle had kept him ont of 
the championship contest, the game with Es- 
sex, bnt he was now all right again, and ready 
to defend his position against all comers. 

Before they had finished dressing, the game 
was over, and the locker room invaded by some 
enthusiastic players and substitutes, all talking 
at once ; 

“What was the final score,” asked Trelaw- 
ney. 

“Thirty-four,” answered the man addressed; 
who was breathing quickly. 

“You look a bit winded, Lawton,” com- 
mented Walters, as he noted the other’s condi- 
tion. 

“I am,” replied the left end briefly. “It’s 
no joke running down under those punts all the 
afternoon. I thought I was going to pass out 
at one time. The cap kept me in, though, to the 
bitter end, and I don’t believe it has done me 
any harm. You can’t get into condition by tak- 
ing it easy when you are as hog-fat as I am. 

14 


FOOTBALL PRACTICE 


How do you two always keep looking so fit?” 

‘^We are lucky enough to train up instead of 
down,” replied Walters chuckling. ‘^So we al- 
ways look in good shape, which saves us from 
the agony you have just been through.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll trust Wilson to 
see that you get enough work; or McLane too, 
for that matter. Just wait till to-morrow, when 
you loafers wfll get the benefit of the full prac- 
tice and I will be let off easy.” 

The two friends left the gymnasium and 
strolled slowly up the street towards the dor- 
mitories. The previous year they had joined 
forces with another classmate, Livingston, and 
had rented a suite in one of the buildings over- 
looking the Botanical Gardens. Livingston 
was no athlete. He was by far the best stu- 
dent of the three, and being a year or so older 
than the others was generally deferred to by 
them. He had made a success by his remark- 
able dancing in the annual performance given 
by the “Thespians,” the college dramatic club, 
which presented each year a musical comedy 
IS 


JUNIOR IN. THE LINE 

written by a member of the club; but his chief 
interest lay in literature, and besides being one 
of the associate editors of the college daily 
since his freshman year, he was endeavoring to 
secure a place on the board of “The Warring- 
tonian,^’ a monthly magazine of great merit 
published by the students. 

He was sitting in the room when the football 
players arrived. 

“Well,^’ said Trelawney, “what did you 
think of the game? Not bad, was it, for the 
opening?’^ 

“I am not much of a critic, but it seemed as 
though we had an excellent chance for a suc- 
cessful season,’’ returned Livingston. “I 
thought the plays went oif with a great deal of 
snap. ’ ’ 

“By the way,” broke in Walters. “I hear 
Mercer has left college.” 

“Did you hear why?” asked Livingston idly. 

“Money troubles, or something of the sort, I 
understand,” said Bob. 

“That’s hard luck, isn’t it?” 

i6 


FOOTBALL PRACTICE 


Trelawney thus far had made no comment, 
but suddenly his face grew alive with interest, 
and he broke out excitedly : 

‘ ^ Do you realize what that probably means to 
you. Bob? He was a Jacobin, and that leaves 
a vacancy in our class. ’ ’ 

Bob’s color changed. ‘‘Do you think they 
will take me in then?” he asked hesitatingly. 

‘ ‘ Take you in ? ” said Trelawney. ‘ ‘ I rather 
think they will. Why, Davis was hot about the 
mistake. And, any way, even if the seniors 
don’t move in the matter, your own class will 
see that you get your rights. Isn’t that so, 
Liv?” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Livingston warmly. “I 
never told you. Bob, all the things I heard about 
that matter. I couldn’t, of course, as they were 
club secrets. But the Jacobin club was cer- 
tainly angry when they learned the true facts in 
the case. You see if you really had bet that 
you would make the club it would have been 
a very cheeky thing to do, and they would have 
been perfectly justified in black-balling you. 

17 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


But when they found out that Warwick had mis- 
represented the facts it put them in a very 
nasty position, because they had unintention- 
ally done you a great injustice before the whole 
college, and I know they have been only waiting 
the chance to acknowledge their mistake.’’ 

^‘You are both very comforting,” said Bob 
smiling. ‘‘I certainly am keen on making the 
club. Not only for the honor of it, but to keep 
in touch with you two. It was mighty lonely at 
times last winter when you had to be at the 
meetings. There wasn’t any one for me to be 
with. I hope you are right about the sentiment 
in the matter in the club.” 

‘‘Has Warwick ever made the matter up with 
you?” asked Trelawney. 

“Yes,” said Walters, as he got up and 
stretched himself. “He came round one day 
just before vacation and apologized for all the 
trouble he had caused me. Said it was pure 
thoughtlessness which had made him repeat the 
conversation ; I told him it was all right, and I 
don’t intend to say any more about it, but I’ll 
i8 


FOOTBALL PRACTICE 


never be able to feel the same way about him 
again. It seems to me that the best part of 
friendship is in being able to talk unreservedly, 
knowing that nothing you say will be repeated 
outside, where a wrong construction might so 
easily be put on your remarks, as in this case. 
I will always feel that I must weigh my re- 
marks when he is around. And you can’t be 
very good friends with a man under those cir- 
cumstances.” 

‘‘He certainly ruined his standing with the 
class,” remarked Trelawney. “Whatever vis- 
ions he had of being the recognized boss of this 
class must be pretty well knocked on the head 
by this time. Do you remember how the class 
howled last spring when he nominated Newton 
for President?” 

“You are right, there,” assented Livingston 
warmly. “Warwick as a political factor is a 
thing of the past. I feel sorry for him, though. 
I don’t believe he repeated your conversation 
with any idea of keeping you out of the club.” 

“That is just my feeling, Liv,” said Walters 

19 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


sharply. don’t believe he did it on purpose, 
but — ^if anyone else in our crowd had done it, I 
would be able to say A know he did not do it 
on purpose.’ I can’t make it plainer than 
that.” 

‘^Is that the way you all feel about it?” said 
a voice in the doorway. 

As the door had opened, they all three looked 
up. There was a moment’s constrained si- 
lence. Livingston was the first to collect his 
wits. ‘‘Hello, Warwick!” he said, “come in 
and make yourself at home. Have you gotten 
settled down yet?” 

Warwick ignored the invitation, and kept his 
place by the door. “Is that the unanimous 
opinion?” he repeated. 

Even Livingston was at a loss what to reply 
under such embarassing circumstances, and 
hesitated. He did not want an open breach, 
such as would arise from a straightforward an- 
swer, yet he was loth to simulate a regard which 
he didn’t feel. Bob Walters stepped manfully 
into the breach. 


20 


FOOTBALL PRACTICE 

‘‘How they feel about it is neither here nor 
there, W arwick, ' ' he declared. ‘ ‘ I made the re- 
mark, and though I am sorry you overheard 
me, because I want to drop the whole miserable 
business once and for all, since you did hear 
I’ll stand by it. I can’t help the way I feel. 
You started the whole trouble, and you can’t 
blame me if I still feel sore about it. As for my 
remark — I don’t want to feel that way at all. 
I would be only too glad to get back to the old 
footing. But that’s up to you. Give me a 
chance to change my opinion, and I’ll meet you 
more than half way. Here’s my hand on 
it.” 

Warwick ignored the proifered hand. “Cut 
that out!” he said tersely. “I apologized once 
for what I did. Between friends, and I thought 
we were friends, even though we disagree on 
certain points, that should have been sufficient. 
However, since you put me on probation. I’ll 
stay on probation until you come to me. But 
there is no need of hand shaking!” 

He went out, closing the door behind him. 


21 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Now, isn’t that too bad!” said Bob regret- 
fully. “Here we are open enemies!” 

“It is a pity,” commented Livingston. “Jim 
Warwick isn’t a bad sort at bottom. But be 
has always had his own way to make. And 
that has made him a little sharp in his dealings. 
Perhaps some of us would be different if we 
had been in his place ! ’ ’ 

“That’s possible,” assented Bob thought- 
fully. “I might be a very different fellow my- 
self if I didn’t have a luxurious allowance and a 
good home. Personal honor must be harder to 
maintain when it conflicts with the obtainment 
of necessities. Well,” he concluded fervently, 
‘ ‘ I hope I am never put to the test. ’ ’ 


£22 


CHAPTER II 


THE STKAIGHT AEM 

Though to the public at large the autumn 
months consist of the usual thirty or thirty-one 
days, to the lad in training on a college foot- 
ball squad they seem to have double the actual 
number. What with his routine of lectures and 
recitations in the morning hours ; the daily aft- 
ernoon practice, lasting always two or three 
hours, and finally a desperate attempt to stave 
off the overpowering desire to sleep long 
enough to get some idea of the next day’s 
studies, the football player finds the autumn 
days stretching interminably into the distance, 
with the championship game so far away that 
the brain is unable to regard it but in an imper- 
sonal light. 

As Bob phrased it one evening to Living- 
ston, as he indulged in a yawD> “I am surely 

23 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


losing mj sense of perspective. At one time 
I knew I was sent here to get an education, and 
that seemed the important thing. I exercised 
in order to study better. Now I study in order 
that I may be allowed to exercise. I just found 
’myself thinking that if I studied any more to- 
night I wouldn’t be in my best shape for prac- 
tice to-morrow! Funny, isn’t it?” 

Livingston laughed. am afraid you are 
not the only one,” he said. There are a few 
thousand American youths afflicted with the 
same complaint. It’s chronic at present, but I 
am glad to see that you seem convalescent ! ’ ’ 

In common with all veteran players, men who 
are practically sure of their places on the team. 
Bob found the daily grind very tiresome. Prac- 
tice against a scrub team quickly loses its zest, 
and the incentive of a contest is missing, with^- 
out which football is distinctly more work than 
play. The schedule, however, called for two 
games a week through October, and as the team 
showed consistent improvement in every game, 
practice was less disheartening than usual. 

24 


THE STRAIGHT ARM 


The climax came when Kingston was beaten 
by the decisive score of twenty-fonr to nothing. 

‘‘This is the best fun I have had for a long 
time,’^ whispered Trelawney to the left half- 
back while time was being taken out on one oc- 
casion during the second half. “My man is a 
cinch. Come right on my back the next time 
you get your signal and I’ll open him up for 
ten yards.” 

“If Essex turns out any thing like this col- 
lection we will send them home with the biggest 
licking they have ever had!” returned Bob, 
•cleaning the mud from his cleats. “It looks 
like a record year for old Warrington.” 

The Kingston team began to show symptoms 
of demoralization as the big line of their op- 
ponents swept them down the field. Short 
plunges through guard or tackle, dashing end 
runs, or quickly executed trick plays, seemed 
all one to the wearers of the White and Black. 
Trelawney ’s great bulk would crash through 
the line, always sure of three yards, but as the 
end of the game drew near, more often placing 

25 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


tlie ball ten or even fifteen yards nearer the 
goal. The ball was Warrington’s on her thirty 
yard line^ well over towards the left side of the 
field, when Bob heard his signal fox an end run. 

“33 — 62 — 9,” yelped the quarterback. Bob 
started with the snap of the ball, tucked it un- 
der his right arm as it was passed to him and 
fell in behind his interference. He never saw 
the opposing end, for that gentleman was 
smothered by the right half. The defensive 
back made a vicious dive at him, but a quick 
side step and the judicious use of the straight 
arm sent him sprawling. Bob rounded the end 
with a clear field before him. “Go it. Bob!” 
screamed the substitutes from their bench un- 
der the stand. 

“Jove! but he can run, can’t he!” remarked 
Livingston, who was yelling himself hoarse, to 
his neighbor, as he watched Bob settle into his 
long stride. 

Out of the corner of his eye the runner caught 
a glimpse of several opponents rushing towards 
him from the side, but a glimpse was all, for 
26 


THE STRAIGHT ARM 


five strides put them behind him and made 
a stern chase of it. His course was down the 
side lines; three feet or perhaps a bit over 
was all he had to spare and he wisely began to 
edge out towards the center of the field while 
he had the chance. The gain in this direction 
was, however, but little by the time the fullback 
neared him. Though distanced for the moment 
his pursuers were too close to make it safe to 
give away any more ground than was abso- 
lutely necessary ; and ten feet leeway was all he 
could claim when the time for decision came. 

‘^He ought to use the straight arm,’’ mut- 
tered Wilson with anxiety, as he crowded on the 
side lines. ^Ht’s his best chance!” Even as 
he spoke the play was over. 

The fullback ran in slowly; well poised; 
ready for a dive in either direction according 
as Bob chose to trust to a straight arm parry 
or to dodge towards the center of the field. 
Bob considered his chances, was afraid that if 
he used that straight arm parry he would be 
forced out of bounds, and dodged. The pre- 
27 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


liminary feint that he made was the undoing 
of his opponent who, poised in a rather unstable 
condition, was partly drawn off his feet by the 
manoeuvre, and as Bob side-stepped rapidly 
to the left was only able to swing his body 
round far enough to feel his hands scrape the 
runner ^s legs. A missed tackle, and Bob had 
a clear field for the fourth and last score of the 
day. 

As he walked up the field, breathless but hap- 
py, Trelawney joined him. 

‘‘That was a corking good run. Bob. As 
pretty a bit of sidestepping as I ever saw. I 
wish I had your agility.’^ 

“He had me guessing for a moment,’’ con- 
fessed Bob. “I didn’t know whether to dodge 
or not. But I guess I did the right thing. It 
came out all right anyway, and that’s the main 
thing,” he concluded, grinning at his compan- 
ion. 

One more kick-off, a few rushes and the play- 
ers were able to escape to the dressing rooms, 
28 


THE STRAIGHT ARM 

there to receive the well earned praises of the 
coaches. 

‘‘I thought you should have kept straight on 
that time, Bob, ’ ^ said Wilson, coming up to him, 
as he gave himself up to the rubbers. ‘‘But 
you succeeded so well, I have changed my opin- 
ion, ’ ’ he concluded with a laugh. 

“It was a doubtful play,’’ assented the half- 
back. “But I always feel safer in the open 
field.” 

“That’s all right,” said Wilson, “but don’t 
let your preference warp your judgment. The 
straight arm is better in a majority of such 
cases. Dodging won’t work against a first- 
class man.” 

Bob was the recipient of many complimen- 
tary speeches, so many, in fact, that, while ap- 
preciating them, he became quite embarassed 
and was glad to retreat to his rooms. There 
he was given a hint which outweighed even the 
praises on his football ability. 

Livingston was hard at work as usual when 
29 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


the friends arrived, but put everything aside to 
discuss the afternoon’s happenings. 

After some minutes of small talk, he turned 
to Bob with a quiet smile and said : 

‘‘Don’t forget that Hallowe’en is the day 
after to-morrow: I wouldn’t make any engage- 
ment for that evening if I were you.” 

Bob stared at his friend for a moment with 
a blank countenance; then as the other’s mean- 
ing became clear turned fiery red, looked at 
Trelawney, saw by the latter’s smile that he 
had guessed aright, started to speak, thought 
better of it, and gazed with non-seeing eyes into 
the fire. 

“There will be no mistake about it this time, 
old fellow,” said Livingston affectionately. 
“The Jacobins want you, and can’t do without 
you. Their only regret is that they didn’t have 
you last year. That’s right, isn’t it, Trel?” 

“Sure,” replied Trelawney, briefly but sin- 
cerely. “They’ll give you a mighty warm wel- 
come, too.” 

Bob’s dreams were rose-colored that night. 
30 

i 


THE STRAIGHT ARM 


Hallowe’en, that night of nights, which 
brings joy or sorrow to so many, according as 
they are chosen or passed over for election to 
the clubs, arrived at last. Bob left Trelawney 
at the training table, and returned alone to his 
room, there to await, as is the custom, the sig- 
nal of the election. 

How different his feelings as compared to his 
sophomore year ! The long hours he had waited 
in fear of being passed over, the terrible re- 
alization that such was his fate. It had not 
been a pleasant evening. Now, the cloud un- 
der which he had rested for so long was cleared 
away, and to-night was to show that the men 
who at one time had thought him not fit to join 
their ranks had received him as one of them. 
Such thoughts ran through his mind as he 
lounged in front of the fire, too contented in 
his musings to exchange them for a book, or to 
do ought but chew the cud of such pleasing re- 
flections. 

‘^Eap, Eap-Eap.” The sound brought Bob 
out of his revery with a start. 

31 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Is Mr. Walters present T’ The voice came 
muffled through the door. 

“Yes,’’ answered Boh huskily. 

“Then come with me,” continued the un- 
known visitant, and Bob lost no time in obey- 
ing the summons. 

A muffled figure awaited him, and the two 
went out quickly into the night. 

The few moments that it took to reach their 
destination were passed by Bob as though 
dreaming. The streets seemed unfamiliar; the 
passers-by unreal, so thrilled was he by the 
actual realization of this long wished for ambi- 
tion. His guide stalked beside him with an at- 
titude that was calculated to chill the average 
awe inspired candidate by its lack of friendli- 
ness and repelling dignity. But to Bob this of- 
ficial pose was as though it did not exist, so far 
removed were his feelings from the possibility 
of being shadowed by anything so trivial as an 
attitude as compared with the great fact, that 
he was actually about to become a member of 
the Jacobins! He hugged that thought closely 

32 


THE STRAIGHT ARM 


to him and was armed against all fear as to 
what he was about to undergo. 

They reached the club house; the sentinel 
awaited them as he had awaited so many in like 
case, and Bob was ushered into the presence of 
his judges. 

What passed only the Jacobins could tell, hut 
when his ordeal was over he found a score of 
faces radiating welcome and warm hands held 
out to greet him and make him feel at home. 
The main hall of the club was the favorite place 
of the members in which to meet in the even- 
ings. Panelled in oak to the ceiling, six feet 
over the head of the tallest man present, the 
walls covered with trophies won by old time 
Jacobins, a massive fireplace, capable of swal- 
lowing up an incredible amount of honest wood, 
and a multitude of inviting armchairs made a 
room to delight any undergraduate. Bob 
looked round with interest, and soon settled 
himself in a cozy corner and listened with de- 
light to the good-natured chaff which flew from 
his companions. Under the soothing influence 

33 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


of so much good feeling, the last hit of loneli- 
ness, of bitterness was driven out of Bob’s 
make-up and he felt at p^ace with all the world. 
Even against Warwick he could now find no 
deep enmity and looked around the room for 
him. But Warwick was not present. He had 
decided it would be more graceful not to attend 
the election of the man whom he had injured, 
and stayed away. Bob was not altogether 
sorry when he realized this, as it helped him, if 
help was necessary, to banish all uncomfortable 
recollections, and he left the club house with 
Trelawney and Livingston a thoroughly happy 
young man. 

can’t realize yet that I am a Jacobin,” he 
said to his two friends as he walked along with 
his arms linked in theirs. ‘‘But every time I 
look down, the glint of that bit of gold in my 
waistcoat is a lot of help! Let’s have a song. 
All together now! ‘For it’s always good 
weather when good fellows get together!’ Hit 
her up, you two ! ‘For its — ’ ” 

They proceeded accordingly to arouse honest 

34 


THE STRAIGHT ARM 


citizens from sleep, and to such good effect that 
when they reached the Dormitories they were 
forced to seek cover quickly to avoid recogni- 
tion from an irate proctor. 


35 


CHAPTEE III 


BOB^S NEW POSITION 

‘‘I SEE that Essex has unearthed a wonder at 
quarterback,’^ said Trelawney one morning as 
he scanned the daily paper. ‘‘They play him 
back on the defense and he ran back nearly 
every kick yesterday, in the game with Hamp- 
ton. Made forty yards twice ! ’ ’ 

Bob considered this news for a moment be- 
fore answering. The Essex game was only two 
weeks otf, and it already loomed large in all 
conversation through the college. 

“What is he?” he asked at length, “a Ju- 
nior?” 

“No, a Sophomore,” replied Trelawney. 
“Came out for the freshman team last year, 
but got hurt and has apparently been over- 
looked this season till Tilbury got hurt last 
week. If half of this is true, he’s a find, all 

36 


BOB'S NEW POSITION 


right, and we will have to watch out for him 
pretty sharply. There’s nothing in the world 
more disheartening to a team than to have kicks 
run back. ’ ’ 

Johnnie Lord will have to get a hustle on 
him. It’s a good thing he is fast.” 

‘^Oh, I’ll trust him any day to stop that sort 
of thing if he’s backed up at all, but I am not 
so sure of Bailey. He’s fast enough, in fact 
he’s awfully apt to overrun his man.” 

‘‘Yes, and if this what’s his name, — Clark, 
can sidestep at all, he will fool Bailey offhand. 
He hasn’t any too much head.” 

“Oh, well,” said Trelawney, yawning, “let’s 
get down to practice. The coaches can do the 
worrying. We can do what we are told, luck- 
ily, so don’t have to bother about our positions. 
I want to make a name for myself this year. ’ ’ 
“Me too,” said Bob, getting up. “I am 
right glad I have been able to hang on to one 
position. I don’t know just how much of a rep- 
utation I can make for myself, but it won’t be 
for lack of trying. Halfback is the best posi- 

37 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

tion on the team anyway, in my humble opin- 
ion!’^ 

The dressing room was as usual in a turmoil, 
and as Bob leisurely stripped off his clothes he 
indulged in some quiet jokes at Lord’s expense. 

‘‘I am glad to see you dressed so early,” he 
said to the end, who was fastening his shin 
guards. suppose you are anxious to get a 
little extra practice since you saw the morning’s 
paper.” 

Lord looked up enquiringly. ‘‘Oh, you mean 
about Clark? It does look serious, but from 
what I heard Wilson say a while ago it’s you 
who may need the extra practice, and not yours 
truly.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Bob, startled, 
for Lord didn’t seem to be joking. 

“Oh, ask Wilson yourself. Here he comes 
now with Greenough. ’ ’ 

The two coaches threaded their way through 
the room and came straight to the speakers. 

“I want to see you a minute, Walters,” said 
the head coach in a low voice. “It ’s on a rather 

38 


BOB^S NEW POSITION 


serious matter. Hurry up with your dressing, 
and come outside.’’ 

told you so,” remarked Lord. ^‘You are 
in for it,” and picking up his sweater he left 
Bob alone. 

The latter hurried into his mud-stained cloth- 
ing, his mind puzzling over the meaning of 
Lord’s innuendo. Finally giving his belt a last 
tightening he hurried out to meet the coach. 

The gridiron presented an animated appear- 
ance. The practice had not yet begun, and the 
players were scattered across the field, punting, 
place kicking or passing the. ball; each indulg- 
ing to the full, in the precious moments of free- 
dom, the love which every football player has 
for handling the pigskin. Trelawney and Lord 
were engaged in a goal kicking competition, and 
having tried all the easy angles were seeing 
which could first kick a goal from the juncture 
of the five-yard line and side line. 

‘^Yah! I nearly got that one,” exulted the 
guard as the ball hit the further upright and 
nearly bounded over the bar. ‘‘That’s the place 
39 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


to aim for ! With a little luck I would have got 
that one ! ’ ’ 

‘‘You and your luck!^’ growled Lord scorn- 
fully, as he sighted the recovered ball with care. 
“Just watch this one! There, how^s that?” 
he exulted as the oval shot high over the goal 
posts. 

“That kind donT count,” retorted Trelaw- 
ney. “You canT tell at this angle whether 
that’s a goal or not. You’ve got to keep them 
lower ! ’ ’ 

Wilson and Greenough watched the scene as 
they leaned against the gymnasium wall. 

“It’s a big change to make at this late date,” 
Greenough was saying. 

“Yes, but I feel sure it’s the thing to do. 
Eobinson will do well enough at half, but we ’ve 
got to make sure of the ends. I hate, though, 
to ask Walters to change. But here he comes.” 

“Bob,” continued the coach as the halfback 
joined them, “we’re facing a serious situation. 
You saw the account in the paper to-day about 
40 


BOB^S NEW POSITION 


the new quarterback Essex has discovered?’’ 
Bob nodded. 

‘‘Well, he’s not a new discovery, because I 
heard about him last year. He’s every bit as 
good as the paper says, and would have made 
the team last year but for the freshman rule. 
He got hurt, though, and they have been saving 
him this year as much as they could. Yester- 
day was the first time they have let him extend 
himself. ’ ’ 

“Why,” said Bob, “I thought he hadn’t 
played on the Varsity before.” 

“He went in one game early in the season, 
but I understand his ankle went back on him 
again. Well, at all events, he’s going in against 
Warrington, and he is a terror in a broken field. 
So it is up to our ends. Lord is all right, but 
Bailey has been a disappointment all the sea- 
son. He doesn’t use his head at all and I sim- 
ply don’t dare use him. Now,” the coach hesi- 
tated for his words, “I want you to take his 
place at right end. You have the speed and 

41 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


you have shown you have the head. You can 
make a first-class end if you try!’^ 

Bob’s face clouded. ‘^Oh, I don’t believe I 
could, at all,” he replied. ‘‘I have never 
played anywhere hut at half, and I would have 
to learn the game all over again. I think I 
would make a mess of it. Besides, I don’t 
care for the position. It has never appealed 
to me, and a man can’t play his best under 
those circumstances!” 

“Well, Morton didn’t think the change would 
work, when I first suggested it, but he has come 
’round to our way of thinking, and has left the 
decision in our hands. Eobinson can take your 
place at half. He won’t he so good,” said Wil- 
son with a smile, “but we can better atford me- 
diocrity there than at the end. I feel certain 
that if you want to make good at end, you can ! ’ ’ 
His eyes searched Walter’s face. “I know it’s 
hard on you,” he went on, “to go to a new po- 
sition just as you have begun to make your 
mark at half, hut it will be for the good of the 
team, and the coach must sacrifice the individ- 

42 


BOB^S NEW POSITION 


ual for that end. And the player must, too.’’ 

Bob stood silent for a moment. ‘‘All right,” 
he said at last. “If I must, I must, and if it’s 
your judgment I will abide by it. But I can’t 
say I’m in love with the proposition.” 

“It’s up to you, Walters, as I said,” con- 
cluded Wilson, as Bob started towards the field. 
“I feel that you can make good if you try!” 

“Well, you needn’t worry about that,” Bob 
retorted. “I’ll try, all right!” And he went 
out to the field in time to see Trelawney send 
the ball cleanly between the goal posts. Lord 
looked at him quizzically. “Well, was I a true 
prophet?” he asked. “Are you going to be my 
running mate after all?” 

“So it seems,” replied Bob colorlessly. 
“Though why on earth Wilson thinks I can 
make a good end, I don’t see,” and he kicked 
viciously the ball lying at Trelawney ’s feet. 

“Hey, what do you think you are doing, 
Bob?” asked Trelawney. “I want that ball.” 

“Sorry, Trel, but my temper got the best of 
me. I didn’t know you wanted it, anyway.” 

43 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘What’s the matter!” 

“Oh, Wilson wants me to play end; he has 
worked himself into a scare abont this Essex 
phenom and thinks Bailey can’t handle him, 
which makes it tough on Bailey, and tough on 
me. I don ’t want his old position. ’ ’ 

“That is hard. Bob,” assented Trelawney. 
“I’ll miss you on my side of the line, too. Do 
you think you can make good!” 

“Oh, it’s not that which is worrying me just 
now. That will come later. But I am pretty 
well grounded in a halfback’s duties, and this 
year I wanted to learn all the fine points of the 
position, and here this comes along and knocks 
me out. I’ll have to begin at the beginning 
again ! ’ ’ 

“No you won ’t, ’ ’ broke in Lord. “ Y ou have 
too much football ability. It won’t take you 
two days’ practice to get into the swing of the 
thing, and then you can learn all the frills you 
want. To tell you the truth, I am rather glad 
of the change for my own sake. It will be very 
44 


BOB^S NEW POSITION 


comforting to know that someone is backing np 
when I miss a tackle. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thanks, Lord, ’ ^ said Bob, grinning through 
his gloom. ‘‘Yon make me feel better already. 
Now come along, and show me some frills be- 
fore we have to line up P ^ 


45 


CHAPTEB IV 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT 

The college at large was inclined to resent 
the loss of its favorite halfback to make, it 
feared, but a mediocre end, and had it not been 
for the absolute confidence which the under- 
graduates had in Wilson, the discontent might 
have grown to actual interference. As it was, 
the feeling against the change died a natural 
death. Bob by his apparent acquiescence to the 
new arrangement giving it no fuel to exist upon 
— and when by the end of the week it was clear 
that he promised to not only be an improvement 
upon the man whom he had displaced, but to 
develope into an end of unusual brilliancy, the 
discontent changed to approval, and admiration 
of Wilson ^s ability in sizing up a player’s 
adaptability. 

On the other hand, though Bob tried his hard- 

46 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT 


est to learn the duties of his new position and 
become more than a mere automaton, executing 
the orders of a superior, he was far from satis- 
fied with the change. He was careful to hide 
this discontent from the team and to present 
as smiling a countenance to the college world 
as before, but in the privacy of his own apart- 
ments he occasionally voiced his regrets to his 
room-mates. 

‘Ht has always been my ambition to leave a 
name behind me as a star halfback,^’ he said 
one evening to Livingston, as he drew back 
from the table with its array of books. “Be- 
fore I ever came to Warrington, I used to 
dream about making the Warsity as halfback, 
and leaving a name second to none in that posi- 
tion. My dreams even soared towards the cap- 
taincy.’^ Bob shrugged his shoulders with a 
half -laugh. “Now it’s good bye to my 
dreams.” 

“Nonsense!” retorted Livingston, pushing 
up his eye shade and looking sharply at his 
friend. “You are making good in the end po- 

47 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


sition in a way that is remarkable, to say the 
least. Everyone is talking about it. I may not 
be a football critic, but I represent the man in 
the street, whose view is generally sound, and 
the general opinion is that you will go further 
as an end than as a halfback. And as for the 
captaincy — the man in the street has opinions 
on that too!^^ And with this cryptic remark 
Livingston pulled down his eye shade and re- 
sumed work. 

However, Bob had not finished. 

‘^That last remark is rot!’^ he said tersely, 
‘4f I interpret it correctly — and as for the oth- 
er, you are partly right, for I do feel that I 
am making good; but I don’t love it the way I 
did playing halfback — I miss running with the 
ball. Not that I don’t get the chance now some- 
times, but it isn ’t the same thing ! ’ ’ 

‘‘What are we going to do against Essex T’ 
asked Livingston lifting his shade again. 

“We ought to lick them hands down. But I 
don’t know. We are awfully confident, and I 
never like that sign. It’s a good thing when all 
48 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT 


goes well — it helps to run up the score. But if 
things break badly at the start, as they did last 
year — why, you are very apt to have last year’s 
result. A team playing its heart out, but with- 
out any real belief in ultimate success — ^which 
means defeat.” 

‘‘How you physically?” 

“Oh, first rate. I have never been better — 
but I confess I am glad to turn in at night. 
Wilson isn’t sparing us much these days. It’s 
mighty hard to get up in the morning too ! ’ ’ 

“You must be glad you are not driving a 
milk wagon, with the rising bell at four G. M. 
then ! ’ ’ 

“I sure am!” retorted Bob with conviction. 
“I had enough of earning money in that way! 
And I’ll think twice before I set oif any more 
cannon and make myself liable for glazing Col- 
lege hall again. It certainly is a blessing not 
to have to work for a living — football is work 
enough for yours truly !” 

The days passed and the all important game 
drew near. Bob could not restrain his feelings 

49 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


and became decidedly nervous, which was nat- 
ural in view of the fact that it would be his first 
big game. Trelawney with his two years’ ex- 
perience took things more calmly, but even he 
showed a disinclination to apply himself to rou- 
tine work. The scent of battle was in the air ! 

At the field the last week was a period of 
feverish activity. The squad practiced every 
day at two o’clock behind closed doors. The 
coaches were not going to take any chances of 
an Essex sympathizer seeing the choice plays 
which their fertile brains had constructed. So 
for two hours the student body was forced to 
remain outside, until the powers that were had 
satisfied themselves that their charges were 
letter perfect in every criss-cross and double 
pass, then and not till then would the gates be 
thrown open and the public allowed to see the 
team in a snappy half-hour’s practice. 

Even then vigilance was not relaxed, and 
many an unoffending fond relative, admitted to 
the sidelines by virtue of a player’s preroga- 
SO 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT 


tive, was the subject of searching glances hj 
the fidgity coaches. 

‘‘Who is that man over there, in the brown 
ulster r’ one coach would say to another. 
“He seems to be watching the plays very 
closely. Find out, will you.’^ 

“Oh that’s Morton’s brother,” the other 
would say. “He was out here last week!” or 
“Here, he does look suspicious. I’ll sound 
him,” and detective work would be instituted 
until the stranger’s character was vouched for, 
or it was intimated that his presence was not 
desirable. 

Thursday and Friday were devoted to signal 
practice only. “I have the men in fine shape 
now, and I’m not going to risk an accident at 
the last moment !” was McLane’s decree. This 
to Greenough, who wanted “just one more line- 
up!” But the coach yielded, and gave the men 
a mile run at the end of practice instead. 

As they trooped into the gymnasium on Fri- 
day afternoon, hot and muddy, there was evi- 

51 


'A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


dence that the last practice was hailed with 
relief — ^yet among some there was a quietness, 
a sense of regret as they pulled off their jerseys 
for the next to the last time. To the senior the 
relief that the long grind is over is modified 
by the thought that he will never represent his 
college again. 

Walters and Trelawney, however, were not 
burdened by any such reflections. Bob joked 
with the rubber, as he lay stretched out flat on 
a bench, while the old darky kneaded the 
muscles of his back. 

^‘The last time for this year, so fix me up 
well!’’ he said. ‘‘Don’t be afraid to get in 
deep — ouch! not there, though!” as the rubber 
reached a sore spot. “How many times have 
I told you to go easy on that side ! ’ ’ 

The rubber chuckled, but continued his work 
without replying. 

“That’s enough for him, Jake!” called Tre- 
lawney, coming out of the shower bath. “Fin- 
ish him up quick. 


52 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT 

‘^You are a most luxurious beggar, Bob!^’ he 
continued as he took the latter ^s place on the 
bench, ‘‘you’d let Jake rub you all night.” 

“Sure, it’s the best part of the whole after- 
noon,” responded Bob, unabashed. “Jake 
nearly always puts me to sleep.” 

“Well, to-morrow will tell the tale. You 
don’t want to be sleepy when you start down 
the field after Clark, or there will be trouble ! ’ ’ 

“Get to bed early to-night, fellows!” cau- 
tioned Wilson as the two friends prepared to 
leave the building. “Good luck for to-mor- 
row!” 

. Sleep did not come quickly to Bob’s pillow 
that night, notwithstanding Wilson’s admoni- 
tion. His brain persisted in conjuring up 
scenes which would take place on the morrow. 
Now he would be making a wonderful run for 
a touchdown, then again he would see Clark’s 
elusive form disappearing up the field as he 
lay sprawled on the ground from a missed 
tackle-. Sleep came at last, but Clark pursued 
S3 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


him in his dreams and it was but a broken 
night’s rest that he procured. The unimagina- 
tive Trelawney, on the other hand, was undis- 
turbed by any fears of the next day. 

Their orders were to keep away from the 
field, but both Bob and Trelawney wandered 
down in the morning to see the condition of 
the turf. 

“That touch of frost last night doesn’t seem 
to have hurt it any, Trel. It ought to give good 
footing this afternoon.” 

“I’m afraid it may turn greasy, when the 
sun gets at it,” replied the guard as he tested 
the surface with the side of his shoe. “Espe- 
cially where the turf has been worn off.” 

“Well, so much the worse for Clark!” His 
dodging won’t be so dangerous.” 

“Here, what are you two doing?” queried 
McLane, who had come up behind them un- 
perceived. “Get along where it’s quiet. Lunch 
will be ready at twelve. You had better not 
eat too much, either. Bob. You’ll be all the 
better for it this afternoon.” 

54 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT 


The trainer’s warning was hardly needed, 
for though a few of the team attacked their 
lunch with relish that midday — ^the majority 
had light appetites and seemed content with 
much less than their usual quantity. Conver- 
sation was not very brisk, and as the men fin- 
ished they drifted into the lounging room and 
passed the last hour in pounding discords on 
the piano. 

“We had better be starting down, boys,” said 
Wilson at last, and the body of athletes drifted 
out into the street and proceeded towards the 
arena where already the vanguard of the spec- 
tators had assembled. 


ss 


CHAPTEE V 


THE GKEAT GAME 

Newton and Livingston, by being on band 
early, had secured good seats in the section 
reserved exclusively for the students, and pro- 
ceeded to make themselves comfortable. 

The stands were filling up rapidly. Every 
aisle held its complement of pushing figures, 
whd drove the ushers well nigh frantic in their 
insistent search for their seats. The passage- 
way in front of the stands was a solidly packed 
mass of humanity, kaleidoscopic in its effect 
from Livingston ^s point of vantage and made 
indescribably brilliant by the gay hats of the 
women. 

‘Wonderful sight? Isn’t it?” he remarked, 
more to himself than his companion, so en- 
thralled was he by the human interest the pic- 
ture contained. 


THE GREAT GAME 


Before Newton could answer, if indeed he 
intended to, there was that sudden bustle at 
the gymnasium end of the arena which in- 
variably starts the heart of every football en- 
thusiast throbbing. Every neck was craned in 
that direction. Suddenly, through a gap in the 
fence, came the first stalwart figure, the white 
W on his breast proclaiming his allegiance. 

“Here they come!’’ The roar of that wel- 
come was not to be despised and instinctively 
the team felt the nervousness pass. 

“Up! everybody up!” was the cry of the 
cheer leaders. Customary, but not necessary, 
for every Warrington sympathizer had been 
drawn irresistibly to his feet at the first sight 
of the team. 

“Now, fellows! all together! The long 
cheer!” 

The leader raised his arms, swayed his body, 
and shook his fists at the cheering section, which 
responded with a volley of sound which boomed 
like artillery. 

Hardly had the echoes died, when the north 

57 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


stand in its turn rose up and bellowed its wel- 
come to an advancing host who proudly bore 
the orange E of Essex. 

For the next few moments, the rival stands 
hurled song and cheer at each other until the 
very air sparkled with the cross-currents of 
partizanship, but the twenty-two men who were 
the object of all this excitement went uncon- 
cernedly about their business ; running through 
signals, punting and drop kicking, as though 
each heart was not beating at fever rate, nor 
twenty thousand voices rendering them homage. 

‘‘Bob looks a bit pale to-day,’’ whispered 
Newton to his companion. “It must be trying 
to go into your first big game in a new posi- 
tion.” 

“Yes, but he has a mighty good head on his 
shoulders. He’ll be all right,” replied Living- 
ston with conviction. “We may not see any- 
thing brilliant, but his work will be consistent.” 

“Which is Clark? Can you make him out?” 
asked their neighbor. “Hello, Tracy, where 
did you spring from?” 


THE GREAT GAME 


I was sitting a couple of rows back, and 
thought I’d join you. They haven’t tossed yet, 
have they?” 

‘ ‘ There they go now. This wind will be a big 
factor in the game, unless I am very much mis- 
taken. ’ ’ 

They caught the glint of the coin as it spun 
in the air. The referee bent over it as it fell. 
The rival captains conferred for a moment and 
then each walked towards his own men. ‘‘Who 
won ? ’ ’ was asked on all sides. 

“We’ve lost, I’m sure,” said Newton. “Yes, 
Essex takes the wind. Well, that is a bad be- 
ginning; but let us hope the proverb is a true 
one ! ’ ’ 

The wind, which was strengthening percepti- 
bly, blew straight down the field and seemed 
likely to be a severe handicap to the man who 
was called upon to punt against it. Essex was 
defending the west goal and already the eleven 
had taken its place, while the Warrington full- 
back balanced the ball carefully at the centre 
of the field. Three times he drew back satis- 

59 


JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


fied, and three times the referee asked the cap- 
tains if they were ready. And three times, at 
the critical moment, did that playful wind send 
the ball rolling from its perch. The crowd 
laughed and groaned. 

‘‘Glue it on! Sit on it,’’ came at last from 
different quarters of the field. This caused a 
general titter, and helped to relax the tension 
under which both teams were struggling. At 
last the whistle blew and Dolan sent the ball 
sailing towards the west goal. It was a strong 
kick, but as it rose the wind seized and held it 
back in its flight, so that the Essex tackle got it 
on the twenty-yard line. The interference 
closed around him, and he started rapidly up 
the field, only to be met by Bob, who threw him- 
self in a low tackle, and the play stopped. 

“That’s the way, old boy!” yelled Tracy en- 
thusiastically, jumping up oh his seat. “Hur- 
ray for Bob Walters ! Put it to ’em!” 

“Down in front,” came the inevitable call 
from behind, and Tracy subsided, only to spring 
6o 


THE GREAT GAME 


once more to his feet as the command came 
echoing up from below, ^^Now, fellows, a long 
cheer for Walters!’^ 

By the time this cheer had died away, the sit- 
uation on the field was none too cheerful. Es- 
sex had opened a varied attack which seemed 
to take her opponents off their feet. Some 
quick plunges — a criss-cross through tackle, 
and the hall was again at the center of the field. 

‘‘What’s the matter with them, NewtT’ asked 
Tracy anxiously to the runner, who sat bent 
over, his eyes following every move with cat- 
like watchfulness. 

“They have the jump on us, just now. We 
will hold them in a second^ but I don’t like the 
looks of it. They are bending our line back!” 

It was only too true. On nearly every play 
in which the two lines came together it was in- 
variably the wearers of the White and Black 
that gave way and the pile of figures after wa- 
vering for a few moments would topple toward 
the east goal. 


6i 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘ ‘ Hold them ! Hold them ! ^ ’ sang out unceas- 
ingly from the Warrington stand, but for a 
while the Essex advance was steady. 

‘‘Ah! That’s better!” came through New- 
ton’s clenched teeth. Lord had slipped through 
the interference and thrown the runner for a 
loss of five yards. 

‘ ‘ They ’ll have to kick now. ’ ’ 

They could see Clark look at the flags mark- 
ing the distance to be gained and an instant 
later his signal rang out sharply. Newton was 
right. The fullback dropped to the rear, the 
ends hurriedly spread out and the ball flashed 
into the outstretched hands awaiting it. 

‘‘Jove, that’s a beauty!” gasped Tracy as 
the pigskin flew up and up in a wide arc. The 
wind caught and supported it until it seemed 
to the spectators to bid fair to cross the goal 
line, but turning in its spiral course it swooped 
down into the waiting arms of Dolan within five 
yards of the posts. A murmur of dismay 
swept through the stand as he was seen to 
62 


THE GREAT GAME 


juggle it for a moment, and visions of a repe- 
tition of last year’s disastrous fumble was in 
everyone’s mind. But luck was with the full- 
back this time and he was able to tuck the ball 
securely under his arm before he went down in 
a heap before the savage onslaught of the Essex 
ends. 

‘‘We’ve got to kick now,” said Tracy as the 
team lined up again. 

“Kick nothing,” retorted Newton savagely, 
as though he were afraid of just such a mis- 
take, and wanted to communicate his views to 
the Warrington quarterback. “It would be su- 
icidal. Dolan couldn’t hope to get more than 
thirty yards against this wind and he ’d be doing 
well to get twenty-five. No, we must get fur- 
ther away from our goal line before we try 
any kicking ! ’ ’ 

This seemed to be the view taken by those in 
authority, for Trelawney dropped back for a 
plunge through center. Essex’s secondary line 
of defense gathered to meet the attack, but Eob- 

63 


JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

inson took the ball on a cross buck and mado 
twice bis length on Morton’s back. How the 
stand cheered! 

The tide turned now in Warrington’s favor 
for a short while. Playing with desperation, 
struggling for every extra inch, the ball was 
carried to the fifteen-yard line, to the twenty, 
to the twenty-five, and the south stand began 
to breathe more easily. The gains grew smaller 
and smaller, however, and finally. Lord, taking 
the ball from his position for a run round the 
other end was tackled from behind for a loss. 
The next play made but three yards and re- 
luctantly Morton signaled for a kick. Newton 
proved to be a good judge. Dolan threw all his 
force into his swing, but the ball never passed 
the center of the field, where Clark seized it. 

This was the latter’s first opportunity to get 
off one of his much advertised runs; but Lord 
was too quick for him, and the ball was down 
without gain. 

“They’ll kick on first downs now right along 
if they are wise,” predicted Newton, and that 
64 


THE GREAT GAME 

Clark knew an advantage when he saw it was 
quickly made evident. The same signal, an- 
other perfect punt, and Warrington was again 
on the defensive. Once again did Warrington 
carry the hall up the field only to be forced to 
punt, but this time Clark sidestepped Lord as 
the latter dove at him and made ten yards be- 
fore Bob brought him to earth. 

“First down on the forty-yard line,’’ com- 
mented Newton. “The half must be nearly up. 
They’ll change their tactics, I think. Look out 
for a trick.” 

The words were hardly out of his mouth 
when the play came sweeping round Walters’ 
end. He met it cleanly, and the interference 
went down as one man, but Wood, who should 
have been backing up, failed in his duty, and 
the Essex halfback went on unchecked for fif- 
teen yards. 

“That was rotten!” ejaculated Newton. 

“It wasn’t Bob’s fault, though, as far as I 
can see,” remarked Livingston inquiringly. 
“He stripped that interference clean.” 

65 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘No, Bob is playing a grand game. The sec- 
ondary defense was at fault there.” 

“Hold them! Hold them!” The stand was 
roaring at its favorites to stop the Essex ad- 
vance. The cheer leaders redoubled their ef- 
forts, but the students were watching the drama 
being played out at their feet so intently that 
the cheers were but scattered. 

“I canT cheer and watch both!” said Tracy 
apologetically, to no one in particular; and no 
one heard him. The ball was but fifteen yards 
from the goal line, and Essex was pressing the 
issue hard. 

Trelawney, with tense face, crouched beside 
his center, ready to use all his cunning to stop 
the advance. Morton was talking unceasingly 
to his men and his “Steady! Warrington!” 
could be heard above the din. 

Again the lines crashed, and but ten yards 
remained. 

“Hold ’em, fellows!” implored Newton, un- 
der his breath, gripping the seat in front of him 
with both hands. 


66 


THE GREAT GAME 


<<42 — 3 — 9 — 11,’’ barked Clark at Ms men. 
The play started for tackle, but as the runner 
hit the line he swirled and came clear of the 
struggling mass. 

Newton saw Bob Walters grab desperately at 
the runner’s legs, as he passed, and bring him 
down, but not until six of the precious yards 
were covered. 

Essex lost no time. Clark had his men in 
place and the signal given almost before the 
referee could clear the mass. 

The spectators saw a terrific plunge square 
on center. Saw the fullback disappear among 
the struggling bodies. Saw the mass waver for 
a moment, as if in doubt as to which way to fall, 
and then tumble like a breaking wave across 
the goal line. 

The north stand roared its delight and rose 
in a body, but undismayed the cheer came back 
from the south stand, ‘‘Eah! Rah! Rah! War- 
rington! Warrington! Warrington!” 


67 


CHAPTEE VI 


BOB^S BUN 

With the score six to nothing against War- 
rington, the interval between the halves was a 
time of misgivings, for those interested in the 
White and Black. 

The cheering section was agog, unable to be- 
lieve its senses that the eleven which was ex- 
pected to rout Essex with ease was itself in 
danger of suffering that very thing. 

‘‘It isn’t the score that worries me,” said 
Newton, as he stood in the narrow aisle stretch- 
ing his legs, now that he could do so without 
fear of interruption from those seated behind 
him. “Six points are not very formidable in 
themselves. But it looks to me as though we 
were being outplayed in every department. 
Particularly in the line. Essex gets the jump 
on us every time, and no backs can gain if the 
line won’t hold.” 


68 


BOB^S RUN 


‘‘Still, we have the wind with us now,’’ re- 
turned Livingston. 

“Yes, and there’s our biggest hope. If we 
can open the second half well, I think we can 
pull the game out yet. ’ ’ 

“I bet the coaches are giving the team a 
pretty warm line of talk these few minutes,” 
remarked Tracy. “I saw Wilson on the side 
lines, looking madder than a wet hen towards 
the end of the half.” 

“They’ll have to do something. The men 
looked decidedly demoralized to me,” assented 
Newton warmly. 

The intermission dragged along. Dragged, 
at least, to all those deeply interested in one or 
the other of the teams, the Warrington par- 
tisans anxious to wipe out the disastrous start 
as soon as possible, and the adherents of Essex 
wishing to get the second half with its possibili- 
ties of a reverse safely over. 

The other spectators gossiped and chatted 
with serene indifference to the importance of 
the struggle. 


69 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘^Here they come!” proclaimed Tracy at last, 
and as the others turned in the direction of the 
gymnasium the teams trotted out on the field. 

There was no idle tossing of a football or evi- 
dence of light-heartedness now in the Warring- 
ton eleven. The men took their places silently 
and determinedly, as though they said: “We 
know we are disgraced, but just watch us re- 
deem ourselves.” 

It was Essex’s kick off this time, and with the 
wind against them, still holding its force, they 
would have no easy time in maintaining their 
advantage against the desperate team opposed 
them during the long thirty-five minutes. At 
least so said Warrington sympathizers confi- 
dently to one another, and as the referee’s 
whistle blew they settled back to watch their 
favorites even up the score. 

“That’s good headwork,” said Newton with 
approval, as on the second down Dolan was 
seen to drop back for a punt. “You can see 
Wilson’s hand in that. He’s not going to wear 
out his men rushing the ball until they are some- 
70 


BOB^S RUN 


where within striking distance, and with this 
wind that ought to be in a few plays. ^ ^ 

^‘That scheme is all right,’’ remarked Liv- 
ingston, we can keep them from gaining 
ground themselves; but suppose we can’t?” 

‘‘Then we lose!” retorted Newton briefly. 
“But if we can’t keep them from making 
ground, we would lose no matter how we at- 
tacked. This gives us our best chance. See!” 
he broke otf, “Clark was nailed in his tracks. 
Good boy. Bob ! They are on the defensive al- 
ready. ’ ’ 

The ball was downed on Essex’s thirty-five- 
yard line. “Now for the test,” muttered New- 
ton, as the teams lined up. 

“Ai!” he shouted the next instant, and the 
stand rose in uproar. Clark had tried a play 
against the Warrington centre and it was as 
though the runner had butted into the wall of 
the gymnasium. 

“He lost a yard that time,” said Newton, as 
soon as the heap had been pulled apart. 
“That’s the way to do it!” 

71 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


The next play also failed to make a substan- 
tial gain, and Essex had to kick. 

Dolan made the catch on his own forty-yard 
line, but was unable to advance. 

Another punt and Essex was forced back to 
her twenty-yard line, and once more found the 
Warrington line almost impregnable. She 
made one first down — a matter of inches only — 
and then had to punt. Dolan was downed five 
yards from the center of the field. 

‘^They ought to try the rushing game now, 
it seems to me,’’ said Livingston, but Newton 
shook his head. 

‘‘They’ll try one more punt first,” he said. 

They did; and afterwards no one could tell 
how it happened. They saw Dolan drop back 
into position, stretch out his arms — saw the ball 
come sailing through the air; — and then an 
orange striped figure sprang — it seemed — from 
nowhere, they heard an impact and saw the ball 
bound down the field with tantalizing indirec- 
tion. Then an Essex player, with the ball 
tucked under his arm, was speeding down the 
72 


BOB^S RUN 


field towards the Warrington goal with pnrsnit 
hopelessly in the rear. 

And in a few moments the score-keeper added 
six points to Essex’s total! 

The south stand was speechless. For an ap- 
preciable time after the first gasp not a sound 
came from those thousands. Even the north 
stand was slow in taking it in. But when it 
did! 

‘‘There goes our last chance,’’ said Newton 
glumly. ‘ ‘ Twelve to nothing and the wind 
against us. We will be lucky if they don’t 
score again.” 

‘ ‘ How did it happen f ’ ’ asked Tracy. ‘ ‘ Could 
you see who let that man through?” 

“No, but he came through our right side of 
the line, I think. It’s too bad! We had a 
mighty good chance to win out a moment ago.” 

The team marched sullenly out to the center 
of the field and took their places. Victory was 
out of their reach, but they could still fight, and 
there was no sign of weakening on their grim 
countenances. 


72 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Tlie wind had begun to go down as the after- 
noon advanced, and now gave little advantage. 
Dolan’s kick in consequence carried well into 
Essex’s territory and for a few moments the 
game was played under the east goal. 

“Essex is going to hug the ball all she can, 
now,” said Newton. “She won’t kick till she 
has to.” 

It was evident that this was the plan. The 
Orange jerseys kept to straight plays, line 
plunging predominating. And though the gains 
were small, they sufficed to make first down 
after first down and to gradually work the ball 
out of the immediate danger zone. 

“Ah! What’s that! A fumble!” yelled 
Newton suddenly, as the Essex fullback plunged 
into the line, and the mass of men seemed to 
be acting in an indeterminate manner. “Who 
got it!” 

There was an instant’s suspense, and then 
the Warrington stand uprose and roared. The 
separating of the pile disclosed Trelawney 
with the ball tightly packed under his arm. 

74 


BOB’S RUN 


Now’s your chance!” yelled the grand- 
stand. ‘‘Touchdown! Touchdown!” 

The Warrington team seemed galvanized into 
new life. The men sprang into position. Their 
whole bearing changed. They saw a chance to 
score, and they were going to take it. 

“Thirty-five yards to go,” yelled the grand- 
stand. “Touchdown! Touchdown!” 

By the time the echo had died down there was 
only twenty-five yards to go, for Trelawney 
had found a hole at right tackle. 

The plays came fast and furious, Essex 
frankly demoralized for the moment, and War- 
rington bound that she should have no time 
to pull herself together till that touchdown was 
scored. 

Fifteen yards to go! Ten! five! six! Es- 
sex was coming out of her trance and Dolan 
was thrown back. The touchdown was not to 
be denied, however, and on the next play Tre- 
lawney crashed through for the necessary dis- 
tance. 

The south stand went wild ! Hats sailed into 

75 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


the air. Strangers embraced each other and 
until after the goal was kicked pandemonium 
raged. Then the incoherent joy changed into 
‘‘We-want-another-Touchdown!^’ which chant- 
ed by a thousand voices made a distinct dent in 
the atmosphere. 

‘^We have a good chance to tie the score 
now!’’ said Livingston, settling back in his seat 
as the enthusiasm died down. There isn’t 
much wind, but what there is, is in our favor. 
Essex must be a bit rattled, too, after feeling 
the game was won. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, they haven’t got this game put away 
on ice yet, by a long shot!” affirmed Tracy. 
“We haven’t begun to play yet.” 

“We had better hurry up, then,” remarked 
Newton dryly. “There can’t be more than ten 
minutes left to play. If the team has anything 
up its sleeve in the way of fake plays now is the 
time to spring them. ’ ’ 

Warrington started out as though intending 
to take the ball the length of the field without 
losing it. First down followed first down in a 

76 


BOB^S RUN 


manner most gratifying to the occupants of the 
south stand. Essex seemed powerless to stop 
the gains. Warrington’s heavy backs tore 
through the holes Trelawney and Morton pre- 
pared for them or circled the ends for substan- 
tial gains, on more than one occasion almost 
getting clear for a long run, but each time an 
Essex player brought the runner to earth just 
in time. 

‘‘We will score!” said Newton with positive- 
ness, “if we don’t make any mistakes. Their 
V line is weakening. But I am afraid the mistake 
is bound to come.” 

The ball was now at the centre of the field, but 
the pace was too hot to hold. Someone was 
a bit late in starting, or the quarterback jug- 
gled the ball for an instant. Whosever the 
fault, it resulted in the runner finding a solid 
mass where a hole should have been and two 
precious yards were lost. A failure to make 
them up on the next play made a punt obliga- 
tory, and Warrington groaned. It looked as 
though the last chance had gone. The minutes 

77 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


were flying and Essex would undoubtedly play 
for time. 

It was a good punt, but Clark got under it 
in fine style, only to be downed once more with 
but a small gain. 

‘‘Have you been noticing what a wonderful 
game Bob has been putting up? Clark hasn’t 
had a chance in his direction.” 

“Bob is made of the stuff that makes good — 
always — if it is humanly possible,” remarked 
Livingston warmly. “That is his chief char- 
acteristic. ’ ’ 

“Yes. You are right; and it is just that 
quality which gives him a good chance of being 
elected captain for next year. Look there!” 
Newton broke off to point excitedly at the field 
before the others could comment on this piece 
of information. 

Essex was undeniably weakening, and had 
failed to gain in two attempts. So Warrington 
had its last chance to tie the score. 

Sixty yards to go and four minutes to play! 
Was it possible to cross those many white lines 

78 


BOB^S RUN 


Trelawney made ten by the magnificent help 
of the rest of the team, who pushed and tugged 
as one man. Dolan made his bare length and 
then Bob ^s signal was sputtered out. 

Bob had been playing for every ounce that 
was in him since the whistle first started the 
game. Now he was breathless and weary, but 
his blood was up and every nerve tingled as he 
heard his own number called. He crouched in 
his place until he saw the center’s fingers 
tighten on the ball, and then with a spring 
dashed into the play. 

As he reached the quarterback the ball came 
hard and true into his arms. He tucked it 
away into his left elbow instinctively and fell 
in behind his interference. The play had 
started from near the right-hand side line and 
his signal was an end run. The broad expanse 
of field stretched before him as he ran. As in 
a mist he saw one after another of his interfer- 
ers go down under the onslaught of Essex play- 
ers, but np orange-striped jersey broke through 
to molest him. Each time, however, he was 
79 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

forced to side-step slightly, so that as his last 
interferer went down in the grasp of an oppo- 
nent, and the way lay clear before him, he had 
crossed well over to the sonth side of the field. 

‘ ^ Oh, good boy, Bob ! ’ ’ yelled Livingston. 

He had shaken them all otf ! The goal beck- 
oned him ! He turned sharply to his right and 
raced down the field. He heard the thnd of 
pursuing feet hot on his trail, but he had eyes 
only for the orange jersey which waited for him 
ahead. The side line paralleled him only a yard 
away and he recalled that run in the Kingston 
game. Should he keep straight on or duplicate 
his former play and try to dodge that sinewy 
figure that was drawing so near? His former 
success decided him. He dodged. 

‘‘Oh, donT turn in!’’ yelled Newton uncon- 
sciously, as he saw Bob make the move. 

Bob waited till Clark hurled himself for the 
tackle and then side-stepped sharply. 

But this time his opponent was as quick as 
himself. Clark seemed to alter his spring 
while in the air. He swept a sinewy arm round 
8o 





DODGED 







BOB^S RUN 

Bob’s knees and held him fast. The last chance 
was over. 

“Well, it was a fine run, anyway — thirty 
yards, ’ ’ said Livingston, with a sigh. 

“Yes,” returned Newton grimly. “But it 
failed. And that beats Warrington!” 


8l 


CHAPTEE VII 


‘‘who’ll be captain” 

“That was too bad,” commented Tracy, as 
he left the field with his companions after the 
customary cheer for the victors had been given. 

“If Bob had kept straight on that time in- 
stead of dodging, I think he might have been 
clear. Still, it’s easy enough to criticize when 
it’s all over.” 

“I don’t understand it yet!” wailed Newton. 
‘ ‘ How we managed to get licked when every one 
thought we would have a walk-over. ’ ’ 

“That’s probably the very reason. A team 
of veterans, as this was, is very apt to get a 
swelled head and then go up in the air when it 
meets any real opposition. Well, next year we 
won’t be bothered with many veterans. Gradu- 
ation makes almost a clean sweep. Whoever 
82 


'WHO'LL BE CAPTAIN 

gets the captaincy will have some tall thinking 
to do.’^ 

‘‘We have got to turn out a winning team 
next year. Two straight defeats are had 
enough, but Essex would be insupportable if 
they win the third. ’ ’ 

“By the way, Newt,’’ said Livingston, break- 
ing his silence, “what did you mean about Bob 
and the captaincy; surely, he hasn’t much 
chance. Trelawney is much more apt to get 
it.” 

“Why?” asked Newton bluntly, as they 
walked into Livingston’s room. “Put it up to 
yourself. Which would you rather give a posi- 
tion of responsibility to?” 

“Well,” replied Livingston, “if you put it 
that way — why. Bob. I think he is much the 
more level-headed. ’ ’ 

“Well, then, do you think the team is blind? 
Trelawney may be more brilliant, more expe- 
rienced, a better jollier — but he wouldn’t make 
the captain that Walters would. And I think 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


the team realizes it. Well; we will know to- 
night. ’ ’ 

The dinner that night at the training quar- 
ters was a very dismal affair. No one ate 
much; general silence reigned, and it was evi- 
dent that the defeat had made every man feel 
to the utmost the result of his exertions. 

With the dessert Morton arose. He looked 
white and careworn. A livid bruise disfigured 
one cheek and the remainder of his face was a 
mass of scratches. He had evidently done all 
that man could to avert defeat. 

^‘As you know, fellows, you must choose a 
captain, now, for next year. Under the rules 
only fourteen of us have a vote this year, those 
who played in the Kingston game and this aft- 
ernoon. 

^‘Before asking for nominations, I feel I must 
thank you all for backing me up so well all the 
year, and I am only sorry that we didn’t pull 
out a victory to-day. I know you all did your 
best, and if fate had been a little kinder I think 
we would have turned the trick. I want to 

84 


'WHO^LL BE CAPTAIN 


thank you all — and if the man who takes my 
place is backed up as well as you fellows backed 
me up — ^why, he won’t have anything to com- 
plain of. 

‘‘Now I will ask for nominations.” 

Trelawney jumped to his feet. 

“Three cheers for Morton, fellows!” he 
cried. “It’s not his fault we didn’t win to-day 
— it was our own swelled heads. So here’s to 
the best captain ever!” 

The cheer rang out with a will and it was 
many minutes before order was obtained. As 
the men settled down, Trelawney could be seen 
still standing. 

“Captain Morton,” he began gravely, “you 
have asked for nominations. Now, it seems to 
me that, other things being equal, the man who 
obeys orders, who does what he is told because 
it is for the good of the team, who puts the team 
first and himself last when he is in a subordi- 
nate position, is the man who will make the best 
captain. You can’t lead until you know how 
to be led. Now there is a certain man who ever 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


since he has been in college has had his heart 
fixed on making a name for himself in a certain 
position. 

‘^Circumstances made it advisable to shift 
him to a new place. He didn’t want to go. It 
meant the probable loss of his reputation. But 
he gritted his teeth and went — and he didn’t 
mope over it, either, and try to show the coaches 
what a mistake they had made. He tried to 
show the coaches that they had done the right 
thing. And he succeeded. Now that is the 
type of man I want to play under — so I nomi- 
nate Mr. Eobert Walters as Captain for next 
year!” 

“Oh, nonsense, Trel,” whispered Bob, under 
cover of the confusion. “I can’t be captain. 
It’s up to you.” 

“You just keep quiet,” retorted Trelawney. 
‘ ‘ I am running this election. ’ ’ 

“No, I won’t,” and Bob jumped u^l. “Fel- 
lows, look here. 

“I nominate the man who has been the stand- 
by of the eleven for three years. The man who 
86 


'WHO^LL BE CAPTAIN 


has made my work possible. Mr. Trelawney, 
the logical choice — ’’ 

am sorry to interrupt my friend,’’ said 
Trelawney firmly; ‘‘bnt I must refuse the nomi- 
nation. We can’t let personal feeling enter 
into this election. We must beat Essex, and to 
do that we must have a man who is not tied 
down in the line as is a guard. I repeat, I must 
decline to be considered.” 

^‘Are there any further nominations,” asked 
Morton after a moment. ‘‘Apparently not,” 
as nobody moved. “Then, in view of Mr. Tre- 
lawney ’s withdrawal, I will dispense with the 
written ballot and ask you to signify your ap- 
proval by saying ‘Aye.’ ” 

‘ ‘ Aye ! ’ ’ rang out from all sides. ‘ ‘ I then de- 
clare Mr. Walters formally elected Captain for 
the succeeeding year and wish him every suc- 
cess. Three cheers for Captain Walters!” 

“What did you do that for?” asked Bob of 
his friend, as they walked home. “You should 
have taken the election. ’ ’ 

87 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘I did it for the reasons I stated,’^ replied 
Trelawney briefly. “You ivill make the better 
Captain. ’ ^ 

“But I have only played in one championship 
game as against your three. I have had very 
little experience!’’ 

“The men believe in you, though, and they’ll 
follow you where they might not follow me. 
Still, if you feel so badly about it, just ask Liv 
to-night and see if he doesn’t think you are the 
better man. I ’ll stand by his opinion. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense, Trel!” said Bob, though he was 
impressed in spite of himself. “Livingston will 
throw a fit when he hears I have been elected. ’ ’ 
“A fit of joy, perhaps — nothing else!” said 
Trelawney, laughing. “Here we are,” and he 
threw open the door. “Hello, quite a crowd!” 

“Hard luck this afternoon,” began Newton, 
but Trelawney interrupted him. 

^ ‘ I was going to ask Liv a question, but since 
you and Tracy are here I’ll ask you all. Now, 
mind, I want an honest answer. ’ ’ 

His eyes twinkled. “Which do you think 


^WHO'LL BE CAPTAIN 


would make the better Captain, Bob or my- 
self r’ 

He looked around at the embarrassed faces 
of his friends, who hesitated to speak. 

Trelawney laughed. ‘‘You don^t have to an- 
swer,’^ he said. “Your faces do it for you. 
There’s only one man who can beat Essex 
next year, and — ^well, we’ve decided to let him 
do it. Fellows — let me present Captain Eob- 
ert Walters!” 


89 


CHAPTEE VIII 


BAD NEWS 

Bob found himself deluged with congratula- 
tions. The election was a popular one, and 
freshman and senior joined in telling the new 
Captain how suitable they thought it. 

Bob discovered that this adulation was very 
pleasant, and for a few days unconsciously took 
a more serious view of life, and felt the weight 
of his honors. But the novelty of his elevation 
soon wore off and he became the same light- 
hearted youth as before, though he kept always 
before him the responsibility that was his to 
give Warrington a winning team. 

Just at this time, however, when all the world 
seemed rose color, what with his club life, his 
captaincy, and two close friends to confide in, 
an incident occurred which threw his future 
into uncertainty. 


90 


BAD NEWS 


‘‘Hello, some mail from home,^’ exulted Bob 
one evening as he and his friends returned from 
supper. “The family haven’t written me for 
ages !” 

He ensconsed himself under the lamp and 
tore the letter open. After a few moments his 
unwonted stillness, for Boh usually read 
snatches of his letters aloud to his friends, 
caused Livingston to look up. 

“What’s wrong. Bob!” he exclaimed, for the 
Captain was sitting with the letter in his lap 
and a worried look on his face. “No bad news 
from home, I hope!” 

Bob didn’t answer for a moment. His 
thoughts seemed far away, and it was not until 
Livingston repeated his question that he looked 
up. 

“What? Oh, I beg your pardon, Liv. Yes, 
it is bad news. Not illness; they are well 
enough, thank goodness. But my mother has 
lost a lot of money, a lot for us, at least, and it 
looks as though I might have to leave college. ’ ’ 

“What?” exclaimed Livingston and Trelaw- 

91 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


ney in one breath, incredulously. ‘‘Oh, it can^t 
be as bad as that ! ’ ’ 

“I am afraid it is,’^ replied Bob mournfully. 
“You remember reading in the paper the 
other day about the failure of the Western 
Bank; well, we owned a lot of stock in it, and 
mother writes me that it has gone to the wall. 
What we have lost will make it almost impossi- 
ble for her to keep on -with my allowance of a 
hundred a month, without pinching them at 
home — and I couldn’t stand for that.” 

“What does Mrs. Walters say?” asked Liv- 
ingston with concern. 

“Oh, she doesn’t suggest my leaving. She 
only asks me to be a little careful in my ex- 
penses. That means that she and Jack will 
have to retrench. But I would rather give up 
my degree than that ! ’ ’ 

“Can’t you manage it some way?” asked 
Trelawney anxiously. “We can’t afford to 
lose you, that’s flat!” 

“Well, I’ll have to see — but it doesn’t look 
very hopeful. We are not millionaires, you 
92 


BAD NEWS 


know, even though we do live near Pittsburg,” 
he added with a light smile. ‘ ‘ Mother has been 
mighty generous with me, and has given me all 
she could; even more than she ought, perhaps, 
but she always said she wanted me to be able 
to hold my own, and of course I never had any 
trouble in spending it ! ” 

^^You might be able to earn enough, Bob, if 
things turn out as badly as you expect,” said 
Livingston quietly. 

That’s so, Liv,” returned Bob with a short 
laugh. didn’t realize last year when I was 
doing it for fun that the experience would come 
in handy. I may come to that, but I’ll sleep on 
the matter first.” 

Livingston was awakened the next morning 
by a white-clad figure. 

am otf for home, Liv/’ it said. “I have 
got to find out about this first hand. Mother 
will never let me know the worst in her letters, 
while I can get it out of her face to face. I 
can’t stay on here in doubt either. If it can 
be managed at all. I’ll come back and work my 

93 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


way through ; but I must find out first just how 
bad the crash is. It might be my duty to quit 
college and go to work at once,’’ he concluded 
soberly. 

‘‘Well, good luck,” said Livingston affec- 
tionately squeezing his friend’s hand. “I feel 
sure it will come out all right somehow. And 
don’t forget to hurry hack to us!” 

“I’ll be back, all right,” returned Boh, as he 
hurried away to dress. “If it is only to pack 
up!” 

Two days later. Bob hurst in upon his friends 
in the midst of their studies. 

“It’s all right, then, is it?” exclaimed Tre- 
lawney at the first glance at Walters’ face. 
Bob was beaming; but the keener eye of Liv- 
ingston noticed an undercurrent of resolve 
which he translated to different effect. 

“It’s not hopeless, then, after all?” 

Bob dropped his bags, and sank into a chair, 
with a luxurious stretch, before he paid atten- 
tion to either question. Then he answered 
both at once. 


94 


BAD NEWS 


“It^s all right as to my coming back, and it^s 
not qnite hopeless as to my remaining, ^ ^ he said 
enigmatically. 

Explain, said Livingston briefly. 

Bob settled himself in his chair and began. 

‘‘Well, I found the family a bit upset, as was 
natural, and they couldn’t give me a very de- 
tailed account of just what had happened or 
how much was lost, but they knew one thing — 
that I was to stay in college, no matter what 
happened. That didn’t satisfy me, so I went 
down to see the family lawyer. He was a 
friend of my father’s, and has always looked 
after our affairs. I got it straight enough 
from him, and it was rather a dose. It seems 
that the very capital or its equivalent which 
has been producing my allowance was wiped 
out. Whether we could recover anything from 
the wreck, he wasn’t sure. Of course, we 
can only get it back if the bank proves to be 
sufficiently solvent for the receiver to get it 
well on its legs again. And that will depend 
a lot on how the creditors act about it. At 

95 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

any rate, for present purposes it is as good as 
gone. ’ ’ 

‘‘That’s tough luck!” said Trelawney explo- 
sively. 

“What did you do then?” asked Livingston. 

“Well, I talked it all over with him, and he 
thinks I ought to come back to college. You 
see, mother and Jack haven’t lost anything as 
yet. So far it’s my loss. The long and short 
of it finally was that I am to have twenty-five 
a month.” 

“You’ll have hard times getting along on 
that!” remarked Trelawney sympathetically. 

“Yes, I know I will. Mother wanted me to 
take more, but I wouldn’t. That will pay for 
my tuition and some of my board. Luckily this 
room is paid up till February, so I am that 
much ahead. The rest I’ll have to make!” 
Bob closed his jaw with a snap. “It’s going 
to be hard work. It’s going to spoil a lot of 
fun; but I am going to see it through. Other 
men have done — are doing it, on much less than 
I have. And if they can, I can!” 

96 


BAD NEWS 


“They haven T got your expensive tastes, 
though, Bob!’’ demurred Trelawney. 

“Oh, I know it will be a pull! Don’t think 
I underestimate that! But if I can’t forget 
my expensive tastes for a few months — mis- 
judge myself, that’s all.” And he looked de- 
fiantly at his friends. 

“It’s not doing the work that bothers me 
now,” he went on after a pause, “it’s getting 
it to do. I calculate that I must make five hun- 
dred dollars between now and June first if I 
am to come out square. And where is there 
that much work?” 

“Oh, you won’t need that much!” remon- 
strated Livingston. “Half that ought to cover 
your expenses.” 

“It would,” said Bob — ^looking at his friend 
keenly — but you forget I want to go to Paris 
with the track team in the spring, and I’ll need 
it then. ’ ’ 

Trelawney laughed. “You certainly are far 
sighted. Bob,” he said. “It’s not certain yet 
that there will be any Olympic Games — that 
97 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Warrington will send her team if the games 
are held, and last but not least that you will be 
a first-string man if the team does go ! ’ ^ 

Bob laughed good humoredly. ‘‘There’s 
nothing like being prepared for opportunity. 
Hitch your wagon to a star, Trel, and you’ll 
get a free ride, anyway, until you fall otf !” 

“Have you thought at all as yet what you 
would do?” asked Livingston. “What sort of 
work you will try to get?” 

“Not enough to arrive at any conclusion,” 
replied Bob thoughtfully. “What would you 
advise ? ’ ’ 

“I think I should see the Dean first,” said 
Livingston, after thinking for a moment. “He 
is always glad to do what he can for the men. 
Then I would go down to the Employment Bu- 
reau. They generally have more applicants 
than places, hut you might get something. It 
won’t do any harm, anyway. Don’t get in- 
flated ideas, however. None of the jobs pay 
very well, unless you happen to strike a snap ! ’ ’ 
‘ ‘ Oh, I know pretty well what to expect, ’ ’ re- 
98 


BAD NEWS 


torted Bob. ‘‘I learnt a lot of that side of col- 
lege life from Codman last year. You re- 
member him, don’t you? I asked him a lot of 
questions; who would have thought I would 
ever make use of the answers ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Why don’t you look him up?” interrupted 
Livingston. “He can probably set you on the 
track of some work.” 

“I think I will. Well! This is where Bob 
Walters, Esq., says good-bye to the halls of 
luxury and becomes a wage earner. Good 
night — ^you idle rich!” 


99 


CHAPTEE IX 


LOOKING FOE WOKK 

Bob was awake at dawn and lay for some 
time conning over the situation which con- 
fronted him. From luxury to comparative 
poverty; from being his own master to becom- 
ing the slave of whatever master would pay 
him the necessary dollars. It was not a pleas- 
ant pill to swallow, and Bob reviewed his pros- 
pects again and again before summoning cour- 
age to get up and make a start in his new life. 

“Now for it!’’ he said as he entered the 
Dean’s office. “There is nothing to be 
ashamed of in my situation, but somehow I feel 
as though there were.” 

The Dean was at leisure, and admitted Bob 
at once, which saved him the fears which go 
with waiting. 

“Well, what can I do for you this morning?” 
lOO 


LOOKING FOR WORK 


said the head of the department after he had 
greeted Bob with his usual cordiality. 

Bob told the story of his family ^s loss in a 
few words and explained his predicament. 
“You see, sir,” he said, “I have got to find a 
job, if I am to stay in college. And I would 
give a good deal to do that!” 

“I think we can find you work, without 
doubt,” said the Dean, smiling. “We cer- 
tainly cannot alford to lose the Captain of the 
’Varsity. But just at this moment I cannot re- 
call any vacant place. What sort of work do 
you want? Would tutoring be in your line?” 
he asked kindly. 

Bob blushed. “I have done a little tutoring 
in French. That was last year, sir, to pay for 
the windows.” 

“Yes, I remember that occurrence,” said the 
Dean dryly. 

“But,” Bob continued, “I only tutored a 
friend. I don’t know whether I could compete 
in the regular market.” 

lOI 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


The Dean mused for a few moments, while 
Bob regarded him anxiously. 

Finally, ‘‘Are you a good German scholar I” 

“No, sir! Pretty weak, I am afraid.’^ 

“That^s a pity,” said the Dean. “There is 
always work for a German student in the med- 
ical department,” he explained. “Translating 
the standard works on medicine. But you have 
to know the language very thoroughly to he a 
success in that sort of work. Well, we will 
think up something for you, shortly. From 
what you said, I understand your need is not 
immediate ? ^ ’ 

“No,” agreed Bob. “I can get along for 
some weeks.” 

“You neednT worry, then, Mr. Walters. I 
am sure we can place you somewhere before 
then. I am very sorry to hear of your loss, 
and glad that you came at once to me to tell 
your troubles. That is one of the things I am 
here for,— though it is very difficult to get the 
students to realize it,” he added with a smile. 
“Good-bye.” 


102 


LOOKING FOR WORK 


Bob felt encouraged as be walked over to the 
Employment Bureau, but was disappointed 
that he was not able to set to work at once. 

At the Bureau, however, he received a set- 
back. 

am sorry, Walters,’’ said the student in 
charge. “I haven’t a vacant place, and my 
books are filled with applications! You can 
see for yourself,” he added, turning the big reg- 
istry so Bob could see it. 

Bob looked and fairly groaned at the sight 
of the columns of names. 

<< There is not much chance there,” he said, 
‘‘and that’s the truth.” 

“I’ll put your name down anyway. Some- 
thing might turn up. What sort of a job do 
you want?” 

“Anything!” said Bob emphatically. 

“Well, what can you do best?” persisted the 
student. 

Bob thought for a moment. “Everything!” 
he said defiantly. The student laughed, but en- 
tered the answer under its proper head. 

103 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Now, to see Codman,’’ said Bob to himself, 
as he left the building and crossed the campus. 
“He is my last hope for the present.’’ 

Codman was not to be founds however, until 
Bob waylaid him, returning from lunch. 

“Hello, Codman!” he called, crossing the 
street to intercept him. “I want to see you for 
a moment. ’ ’ 

“What’s up now?” was the answer, as they 
shook hands. 

“I am looking for a job,” said Bob bluntly. 
“And I thought you might be able to help me 
find one.” 

Codman looked at Bob Walters with a smile. 
“What’s the matter this time?” he asked. 
“Been breaking some more windows?” 

“No,” said Bob, smiling at his companion’s 
allusion. ‘ ‘ There is no play about it this time. 
I really need the money in order to stay in col- 
lege.” 

Codman started, and stared at his friend. 
“Why, has anything serious happened to you?” 
Bob recounted briefly the cause of his pres- 
104 


LOOKING FOR WORK 

ent needs, giving Codman the information nee- 
cessary for him to understand the situation. 
‘^You see,^’ he ended, really need a job, no 
joking, and if you can put me on the track of 
one I hi be mighty well obliged!^’ 

‘‘I^m awfully sorry to hear this,’^ said Cod- 
man with feeling. ‘‘It^s hard luck, and no mis- 
take!’’ His sympathy was sincere. He had 
always admired Bob Walters and looked up to 
him as one who took a leading part in the col- 
lege world. And since the day Bob had gone 
out of his way to be good to him, on the Thespi- 
an’s private car the year before, his admiration 
had been enriched by a sincere liking. So that 
it was natural that the account of Bob’s mis- 
fortune should touch him deeply. 

‘^Why, I’ll find something for you, sure,” he 
began impulsively, but checked himself as the 
thought came to him that the work which he 
was in the habit of doing might not be to the 
liking of Walters. 

Bob noticed the hesitancy, and attributed it 
to the wrong cause. ^ ‘ Of course, I realize that 
105 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Jobs are prizes nowadays, and I don’t want to 
impose — ” he began stiffly, but Codman inter- 
rupted him. It’s no trouble!” he said warmly, 
^‘It Just struck me that perhaps you wouldn’t 
like the sort of work that I am doing. It’s 
mostly looking after furnaces,” he concluded 
apologetically. 

Bob’s face cleared. Don’t let that worry 
you,” he said grimly. ^‘Beggars can’t be 
choosers, and I must have the work. Have you 
got anything in mind ? ’ ’ 

‘^Well, yes! If you are looking for some- 
thing in a hurry you can have the furnaces I 
have been taking care of. I have Just been of- 
fered a Job over at the dining hall which will 
pay me better, and I haven’t time to do both.” 

^ ^ How many houses do you look after 1 ’ ’ asked 
Bob. 

Seven. That’s about all a man can handle 
and keep up with his college work. It pays a 
dollar a week per house. ’ ’ 

^^Why, that would be first rate,” exclaimed 
io6 


LOOKING FOR WORK 


Bob. ‘^Thirty dollars a month, nearly. Say, 
four hundred a year ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Your calculations are a bit off,’^ remarked 
Codman with a smile. “You forget that in this 
latitude, furnaces aren’t needed after April at 
the latest.” 

Bob laughed. “I was getting too enthusi- 
astic. Let’s see, though. This is November — 
that gives me five months anyway. One hun- 
dred and fifty dollars. That would be easy 
money — ” 

“You’ll think you’ve earned it by the time 
April comes,” returned Codman dryly. 
“There’s nothing easy about it.” 

“Well,” he continued, after a pause. “If 
you feel like trying it. I’ll speak to the owners 
this evening and if they are agreeable, you can 
start in to-morrow.” 

“I am ever so much obliged to you,” said 
Bob warmly. “But are you sure you don’t 
want to keep the job yourself!” 

“Quite sure — ” Codman laughed. “I was 
107 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

getting pretty sick of it. This new job will 
make a pleasant change. ’ ’ 

^‘What is it!’’ ask(?d Bob. 

^ ‘ Oh, I am 4o have» charge of the acconnts, 
book-keeper’s job; take in the meal tickets too. 
I have to be at the desk at meal times, but I 
can do a good bit of studying during the lulls 
in business. That’s one reason I gave up the 
other jobs. I found it hard work to keep up 
with my classes.” 

‘‘I’ll drop round to your rooms this evening,” 
said Bob as they parted. “You can tell me 
then if I will be acceptable. Please give me a 
good character!” 

Bob walked up the street with a load otf his 
mind. He realized that the work ahead of him 
would be hard — even disagreeable. But it was 
work. That was the main thing ; and the vision 
of being forced to leave college faded from his 
horizon. 

“Behold the horny-handed son of toil!” he 
said as he flung open the door of his room. 

Livingston looked up eagerly. 

io8 


LOOKING FOR WORK 


you get a jobT’ he asked. 

‘‘Yes, I am now Coal Passer in Ordinary to 
seven uncrowned American kings. Or will be 
as soon as they pass upon my credentials.’’ 

“What in the world do you meanP’ asked 
Livingston, mystified. 

“I am to be invested with the Decoration of 
the Black Diamond,” continued Bob, grand- 
iloquently. 

“Explain yourself!” said Livingston. 

“In short,” announced Bob, coming down to 
plain English, “I am to look after the fires of 
seven honest citizens, and will be familiarly 
known as ‘the furnace man!’ ” 

Livingston looked at his friend keenly for a 
moment. “It won’t be very clean work, I am 
afraid,” he said finally. 

“No, Liv,” said Bob briefly, “but it’s hon- 
est!” 


109 


CHAPTER X 


THE FUKNACE MAH 

The change was acceptable to Codman’s em- 
ployers, so early the next morning he initiated 
Bob Walters into the mysteries of making up 
fires. 

‘‘All the furnaces are of practically the same 
design,’’ he said as they trudged along in the 
semi-darkness. “So if you understand one, 
you will have no trouble with the others.” 

As he spoke he swung up an alley with Bob 
at his heels, and rang at a back gate. 

The head of the kitchen admitted them and 
Bob was introduced as the new man. 

“It’s sorry I’ll be to be a losing of you, Mr. 
Codman,” said the genial cook over her shoul- 
der as she led the way into the house. “You’ve 
always kept the fires up fine ! ’ ’ 

Codman laughed, and assuring her of Bob’s 


no 


THE FURNACE MAN. 


capabilities, sprang down the cellar stairs. 

The next few minutes were busy ones for Bob 
Walters. 

His companion rattled otf the names and uses 
of the different parts of the furnace until Bob ’s 
head whirled, for like most youths all he knew 
concerning a furnace was that if you fed it coal 
you got heat. 

‘‘This is the check draft,’’ said Codman, 
pointing to a movable shutter on the left of the 
furnace. “When you open that, it cuts the 
draft off the fire pot. Always open it at night 
when you bank the fire. Then you’ll find your 
fire all right in the morning. See here ! This 
is how it works.” 

Under Codman ’s able tutelage Bob soon 
caught “the hang of things,” and when they 
had finished the first three, he did the work 
himself. 

“We took a little longer this morning than I 
usually do,” said Codman as they left the last 
house. “You ought to do the lot in an hour 
and a quarter. ’ ’ 


III 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


tliat all you do to them until the even- 
ing asked Bob. 

‘‘Well, I usually drop round at lunch time if 
the weather changes, but as a rule they are safe 
for the day. How about some breakfast?’’ 

“I’m famished!” admitted Bob, and as he 
sat over a cup of steaming coffee, he felt that 
he had earned it ! 

Livingston and Trelawney were much inter- 
ested in their room-mate’s experiences and de- 
lighted that he had solved the question of stay- 
ing in college. 

“I suppose you will drop this job as soon as 
you can find a better, ’ ’ remarked Trelawney one 
evening when Bob returned from “putting his 
babies to bed,” as he expressed it. 

“lam not so sure Trel,” replied Bob thought- 
fully. “I have tried it for a week, and I rather 
like it, in a way. It’s good exercise, and will 
keep me in fine trim. It’s exacting work, but it 
doesn’t take me very long, and I don’t know of 
any other job which will give me as much time 
to myseT. The chief hardship to me is the 


112 


THE FURNACE MAN 

getting up early — but that isn^t really a hard- 
ship. It^s only because I have been used to my 
forty winks all my life that it bothers me. I 
daresay I will be all the better for it. The 
morning air is fine ! ^ ’ 

‘‘Yes,’’ said Trelawney ironically. “I know 
all about that morning air, thank you. Driving 
that milk wagon last year gave me all the air I 
needed. I am quite content to miss the early 
brand. ’ ’ 

Bob laughed. “But there, that was too 
strenous. Four thirty is a lot different from 
six. Up at six — on the job at half past and all 
through by eight thirty. It’s not so bad.” 

“Have you seen Newton lately!” he went on 
changing the subject abruptly. “I wonder 
what he thinks of our chances in the cross- 
country championship. ’ ’ 

“This coming Saturday, isn’t it!” remarked 
Livingston. 

“Yes,” said Trelawney. “I think I’ll go 
over to see it, too. Newton was in here just 
after lunch. He thinks our chances are fair. 

113 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Personally, I don’t agree with him. I don’t 
think we have a show except for first place, and 
Newton will come awfully close to landing 
that. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, isn’t that enough P’ asked Livingston 
bewildered. 

“No, you hermit ! ’ ’ laughed Bob. ‘ ‘ The first 
six places count for each team. First place one 
point; second two points; third place three 
points, and so on. The college that scores the 
fewest points wins. So you see you have to 
have a well balanced team, for even if you win 
first and second your last man may score so 
much as to lose you the victory' ” 

“I see,” said Livingston. “What’s the dis- 
tance!” 

“Five miles with forty-two jumps. It’s no 
child’s play!” 

‘ ‘ Can Newt last that distance ! I thought the 
mile was his specialty. ’ ’ 

“It is, but he seems to be doing finely over 
the longer course. I wish I could see it!” con- 
cluded Bob, with a sigh. 

114 


THE FURNACE MAN 


^‘Why don’t you come over with me?” asked 
Trelawney impulsively. 

Bob shook his head. ‘‘Can’t neglect the fur- 
naces. I don’t like to ask for leave of absence 
so soon after starting in. And then there’s the 
expense to be thought of. No, I can’t go !” 

“Come as my guest,” persisted Trelawney. 
“You would be doing me a favor in going with 
me.” 

“That’s mighty good of you, Trel,” replied 
Bob warmly. “But I can’t accept. I mustn’t 
begin my working days with that sort of thing. 
Thanks all the same. Persuade Liv to go — 
he’ll enjoy it.” 

Trelawney looked at Livingston interroga- 
tively. The latter thought over the proposi- 
tion for a moment and then assented. 

“I believe I should like to see that race,” he 
said. “1 feel like a spree anyway. I have 
been working too hard. Shall we have to start 
the day before?” 

“Oh, no/’ said , Trelawney. “If we leave 
here early Saturday we will have plenty of 

115 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

time. The race isnT till two. Why not get the 
crowd to go over he added, as an after- 
thought. “We can have barrels of fun then. 
What do you say?’’ he looked eagerly at Liv- 
ingston. 

“Why, certainly,” responded the latter. 

‘ ‘ That ’s a good thought. Eun over and see 
Tracy now about it, why don’t you?” 

“I think I will,” The big guard pulled him- 
self out of his chair without more ado and clat- 
tered down the staircase. 

“I wish I had Trelawney’s enthusiasm,” 
said Livingston with a smile, as he listened to 
the retreating footsteps. “ It ’s a great asset ! ’ ’ 

“Yes,” assented Walters. But Trel gets 
almost too enthusiastic at times. He’s like a 
big kid when he gets started. He does carry 
one along though— which is a comfort. 

Livingston looked at his friend searchingly. 

“Don’t get down in the mouth. Bob, over 
your troubles, ’ ’ he said affectionately. ‘ ‘You ’ll 
pull out all right yet.” 

Bob stretched himself. ‘M am a bit blue to- 
ii6 


THE FURNACE MAN 


he acknowledged. hits me hard 

when I realize that little trips like this must all 
be cut out. I won’t see much more of you two 
than I did last year when you were Jacobins, 
and I wasn’t.” 

‘‘Oh, yes you will,” asserted Livingston 
cheerily. “You’ll be making so much more be- 
fore the year’s out, that you won’t have to think 
twice about money. Mark my words ! ’ ’ 

“It’s all right,” exclaimed Trelawney, as he 
burst into the room once more. “Tracy will 
come, and so will Carey. Lord wasn’t sure, but 
thinks there’s a chance. So it’s all fixed for the 
8: 52 Saturday morning. It’s up to Newt now 
to make our trip worth while by winning first 
place ! ’ ’ 

“How about Warwick?” asked Livingston. 
“Will he go too?” 

Trelawney scowled. “I didn’t ask War- 
wick!” he said. 


CHAPTER XI 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 

Satukday morning found Livingston and 
Trelawney off in good time for their train. 
They had met Bob returning from his morn- 
ing’s work as they left the Dormitories, and had 
tried to make him change his mind, but in vain. 

^^Not this time, Trel,” he said as they stood 
under the great archway at the entrance to the 
Quadrangle. ‘‘You’ll have to count me out on 
this sort of thing till I get firmly on my feet. 
Give Newt a cheer for me.” 

He turned away and passed on to the rooms. 
Once there he discarded his grimy clothes and 
removed the evidence of his toil from his hands 
and face — for one cannot shovel coal without 
bearing the marks of it, and then sat down to re- 
flect on his position. 

“It’s a deucedly tiresome grind, this,” he 
Ii8 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 


muttered wearily to himself as he sank into a 
chair. ^ ‘I confess I envy those chaps their trip. 
Nevertheless, seven dollars per is not to be de- 
spised.’’ 

His friends meanwhile had met the others of 
the party at the train, and as the express pulled 
out of the station they all went into the dining 
car for a late breakfast, one and all having been 
too lazy to get up early enough to have that 
meal before starting. 

‘^This is jolly, and no mistake,” mumbled 
Tracy over his plate full of eggs and bacon. 
‘‘There is nothing like a well chosen meal in 
company with a well chosen party.” 

“Which do you enjoy more?” asked Lord 
quizzically. 

“No need to ask that!” jeered Trelawney. 
“The companions, to Tracy, are never more 
than the garnishings to a meal. Pleasant, but 
not necessary.” 

“Well, I have both this morning, so why 
bother about it,” retorted Tracy placidly, pour- 
ing himself a second cup of coffee. 

119 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


^^Why, you young sinner/ V ejaculated Tre- 
lawney, as lie looked at the dish in front of him. 
‘‘If you haven’t gone and eaten up my eggs as 
well as your own ! ’ ’ 

“That shows the danger of commenting on 
your betters/’ said Tracy, in no wise disturbed. 
“Eing for some more!” 

The two-hour run passed very pleasantly, and 
on arriving at their destination they made at 
once for the hotel where the team was stopping. 

The lobby was filled with the usual crowd of 
hangers-on, besides the various members of the 
competing teams, the trainers and rubbers. 

“There’s Newton,” exclaimed Carey, and he 
yelled across to the champion miler. 

Newton gave a start of pleasure at recogniz- 
ing his friends and joined them at once. 

“Well, it’s nice to see the old crowd here,” 
he exclaimed. “I was just wondering if you 
really would turn up.” 

“What’s the latest talk!” asked Trelaw- 
ney eagerly. 

“Nothing new!” said Newton smiling. 

120 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 

‘^Warrington has a fighting chance, and that’s 
all.” 

“How about your chances?” persisted Tre- 
lawney. “Do you think you can turn the 
trick?” 

“I’ll answer that after the race. You can’t 
tell where any man will finish in a steeple chase. 
This is a stiff course, and anything may hap- 
pen. ’ ’ 

Lord, who had slipped away to get informa- 
tion on his own account, joined them just as 
Newton was called away to an early lunch, and 
rejoiced their hearts by saying, as he pointed 
after the runner : 

‘ ‘ The general opinion seems to be that there 
isn’t a man entered in the race who has a chance 
with him ! ’ ’ 

The afternoon was a perfect one. The sky 
slightly overcast, practically no wind, and a 
fresh autumnal tang in the air, made the run- 
ners eager for the signal to start on their long 
journey. 

The race was to be held at Belfield Park over 


I2I 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


the regular steeple-chase course of that historic 
track. With the exception of the water jump, 
which had been narrowed, and a few of the 
stiff est fences, which had been lowered, the 
course was the same which had tried the mettle 
of the best horses in the country, so that New- 
ton was right in considering it ‘ ‘ stiff. ’ ’ 

‘‘Where shall we make our headquarters T ’ 
asked Trelawney of the others as they arrived 
at the course a few moments before the race 
began. 

“Oh, at the water jump, by all means!” said 
Carey. “There will be more fun there than in 
the rest of the course put together.” 

‘ ‘ Come on, then, ’ ’ said Trelawney. “We will 
have to get a hustle on. They will start in a 
moment. ’ ’ 

It was a large “field” that faced the starter. 
No less than seventy-six men, representing the 
pick of the long distance runners of the East- 
ern colleges, gathered at the pole when the 
warning bell announced that the race was about 
to start. 


122 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 


The runners soon stripped for the contest. 
Wrappers and sweaters were jealously * 
guarded until the last possible moment, to avoid 
the chance of any stiffening of limber muscles. 
But as the starter, pistol in hand, approached 
the runners, all wraps were flung aside, and 
two long lines waited with tense faces for the 
word. 

The pistol cracked; the compact lines broke 
and the seventy-six competitors sprang down 
the course. 

‘‘They^re off!’^ exulted the crowd, and in 
a moment the white-clad runners rounded the 
bend and streamed into full view. 

‘‘How nice and clean they look,’’ murmured 
Carey in Livingston’s ear. “Just wait a mo- 
ment ! ’ ’ 

The water jump was an ugly affair ; a three- 
foot brush hurdle on the near side with six feet 
of water beyond. The ditch was two feet deep, 
so that a thorough soaking awaited the man 
who failed to clear it. 

As the first man neared the formidable look- 
123 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


ing barrier, he quickened his pace and rising 
cleanly cleared the obstacle with six inches to 
spare. . 

The spectators applauded him liberally. The 
second runner, not so fortunate, slipped on the 
edge as he landed, but got away with nothing 
more than a splashing. 

Then came two side by side, who stolidly 
leaped over the hurdle and plumped fairly into 
the pool. The water spouted; the spectators 
jeered, but the runners clambered as stolidly 
out and pursued their way, apparently unmind- 
ful of the mud that covered them. 

‘^They didn’t make a try at it, even!” ex- 
claimed Trelawney scornfully. 

‘^No,” said Carey. ‘‘A lot of them won’t. 
They calculate they waste more energy than 
they save by making the effort. They’ll all be 
into it by the third time round, anyway. It’s 
only putting off the evil day. Here ’s Newton, ’ ’ 
he broke off. ‘^Good boy. Newt,” he yelled, as 
Newton, with apparently no effort, rose grace- 
fully at the jump, cleared the water, and re- 
124 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 

sumed his machine-like stride without losing 
an instant. 

Newton had been in the second line at the 
start, and knowing from experience the terrible 
jostling there would be at the first few jumps, 
before the field becj^nae 5 strung out, wisely held 
back for the first half mile, and allowed the ihob 
to sweep on ahe^ to bi’eak doym the fences for 
him. 

It was an inspiring sight. The long line of 
men swepi round the bend in the track, ? some- 
times : one figure, sometimes a , dozen,, flashing 
into view aS: they rose to the hurdles. 

^^It’s a long journey they have before them,’’ 
commented Lord, as the last runnei: disap- 
peared behind the rise at the upper end of the 
track. 

/‘Newton has pretty form, hasn’t he?” said 
Carey. ‘ ‘ I didn T see another runner who has 
that even stride. 

‘ ‘No. He is a wonder ! He will do some- 
thing to the mile record before he graduates. 
McLane expects great things of him.” 

125 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

‘‘There they come, rounding into the 
stretch,’’ exclaimed Carey. “Can you make 
out any of our men yetT’ 

“I think I see a couple of W’s in that first 
bunch,” said Trelawney, after a careful scru- 
tiny. “We will know in a minute, however. ’ ’ 

As the leaders came again to the water jump, 
it was patent that the pace had already begun 
to tell on some of the runners, for a good two 
hundred yards separated the first from the last. 
Nor was the jump in front of the Warrington 
adherents taken as cleanly by the majority of 
the contestants as on the first attempt. Man 
after man fell short of the bank, until the im- 
provised stream was churned into a muddy 
lather and the variegated stripes on the run- 
ners’ suits were merged into one drab tone. 

“Our men are going well, aren’t they?” de- 
clared Lord to the crowd in general. “Nicely 
bunched. ’ ’ 

“It seems to me they are lying pretty far 
back,” said Tracy critically. 

126 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 

‘‘Trust Newt,” said Lord. “The race is 
young yet, and I imagine he will nurse the 
others along before he cuts loose for the lead. 
Youdl notice that Wheeler isn’t far ahead. He 
is the man Newt is watching. Essex pins her 
faith on him for first place, and when he moves 
up you’ll find Newton following suit.” 
i The third lap found the field still further 
strung out ; many of the men running with evi- 
dent effort, while the fourth lap put an end to 
many an aspiring runner. 

“Do you see?” said Lord triumphantly, as 
Newton passed, running strongly. “He has 
left the bunch and gone after Wheeler!” 

Newton indeed had quickened his pace, as 
soon as he saw his rival put on steam. Slowly 
he drew up on the Essex runner, and as they 
finished the fourth mile, the race appeared to 
lie between the two, for they held a clear lead 
over all competitors. 

“I wonder if we are going to see a finish like 
last spring?” breathed Carey, referring to the 
127 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


mile run at the Intercollegiates, in which New- 
ton had just managed to beat Wheeler out at 
the tape. 

^^It looks like it,’^ assented Trelawney, as the 
two runners took the water jump not five feet 
apart. As they took up their stride again it 
was evident to all that there was to be a mem- 
orable struggle. Both ran strongly, as though 
fatigue was unknown, and elbow to elbow they 
raced towards home. 

It was a finish that those who saw it never 
forgot. 

For three-quarters of a mile those two fought 
it out. Wheeler towered over the diminutive 
Newton, but though blessed with the longer 
stride, could not shake off the persistent figure 
beside him. It seemed impossible that human 
endurance could stand the strain of the terrific 
pace after the long distance that had been cov- 
ered. Wheeler seemed worried by the proxim- 
ity of his opponent, and made several strong 
but ill judged attempts to shake Newton off. 
But though he thus gained a few yards on each 
128 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 

occasion, in a few moments Newton would be 
again at bis heels without having made any ap- 
parent effort. 

‘‘I am going across to the finish,’’ said Lord 
suddenly. ‘‘Come on, fellows!” The runners 
had entered the last quarter as he spoke, and 
when he and his friends had moved over to the 
winning post, the two tired figures had just en- 
tered the straight, three hundred yards away. 

The crowd assembled along the track let out a 
yell of encouragement, and under the spur of 
this incentive the runners seemed to gather 
new strength. 

“Wheeler wins!” shouted an excited parti- 
san. ‘ ‘ Wheeler ! Wheeler ! ’ ’ 

The Essex runner seemed to be slightly in 
the lead, though it was not until he rose at a 
hurdle that the crowd could judge accurately. 
But then it was clear that he led Newton by 
three yards. 

“Jove ! but they are hitting it up,” said Lord 
excitedly. “I never saw such a finish! Isn’t 
it great?” 


129 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

am afraid Wheeler has him,’’ Carey 
spoke despondently. 

^^Not on your life!” retorted Tracy. ‘‘Old 
Newton has a lot left in him yet! What did 
I tell you ! ” he continued triumphantly, as the 
runners took a hurdle neck and neck. 

“Newton wins! Hurrah for Newton!” 
shouted Tracy, dancing in joy. “Just watch 
him finish ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Wheeler ’s in the lead ! ” 

“No, he isn’t! Watch them take the last 
jump. ’ ’ 

“See! Newton has a yard on him!” 

“Nonsense! There’s not an inch to choose 
between them ! ’ ’ 

Down the lane formed by the cheering spec- 
tators the runners flew. When they landed 
over the last jump Newton found that he had 
a half -yard lead, and was determined to keep it. 

He was very tired, but he knew his opponent 
could be in no better plight, and shutting his 
mind to everything but the tape stretched 
across the path in front of him he raced on. 

130 


A FIGHTING CHANCE 


He could feel Wheeler’s breath on his shoul- 
der; knew that the slightest falter in his 
stride would give his opponent the lead and 
with it the race. 

The tape seemed to get no nearer; for a long 
time he seemed to be stationary, as though he 
were on a tread-mill. 

‘‘I can’t last ten steps more,” he thought, 
and then, as if by magic, the tape advanced 
towards him in giant strides ; he felt it tighten 
on his breast and he knew that he had won ! 


CHAPTER XII 

^^WABEINGTON WINS!’^ 

^ ‘ Warkington wins ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Good boy, Newton!’’ 

The shouts echoed across the course, and 
were sweet music to Newton’s ears as he gasped 
for breath after the gruelling finish. He felt 
a dart of pride at having once more carried 
the Black and White to the fore, but immedi- 
ately, like the true Warringtonian he was, sunk 
his own triumph in his anxiety for the other 
members of the team and their chance of fol- 
lowing him closely enough across the line to 
give his college the cross-country championship. 

He and Wheeler had so outclassed the rest 
of the field that it was only after he had slipped 
into his sweater and walked back toward the 
judges that the third man finished. 

He bore the orange ribbon of Essex. 

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‘‘That^s bad!^^ commented Newton, and 
looked anxiously down the track, in the hope of 
catching a glimpse of a black W. 

Fifty yards from the finish struggled a bunch 
of five men, but though one bore his chief rival’s 
colors, none of his team-mates was in sight. 

The next moment he gave a cheer, as loud as 
his exhausted condition would permit, for round 
the bend trotted three Warrington runners — 
very tired they were, but the sight of the tape 
seemed to encourage them, and keeping closely 
together they broke into a fair imitation of a 
sprint. 

‘ ‘ That gives us four in, with a total of thirty- 
one points. Essex has three in, totaling eleven. 
It doesn’t look any too easy for us!” he com- 
mented, and just then caught Trelawney’s eye. 

‘‘Good work, Newt,” yelled the latter. 
“What are our chances?” 

Newton shrugged his shoulders expressively, 
and then pointed down the track. 

The main body of the ruimers had come into 
view. Leading it was an Essex man^ closely 

133 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


followed hj one wlio bore the K of Kingston. 
A few yards back showed the W. They finished 
in that order, and the word ran ronnd that War- 
rington had scored forty-five points with five 
men; Essex but twenty-three, with four. 

‘‘Not much hope then, is there!’’ remarked 
Livingston, sadly. “And here comes another 
orange man!” 

“The last numbers add up mighty quick,” re- 
plied Lord hopefully. “We may turn the trick 
yet!” 

“What does that make the score?” asked 
Tracy, as the fifth Essex man trotted across 
the line. 

“He was number seventeen. That makes 
forty,” answered Lord. “Yes, and here comes 
Adams, number twenty; that makes us sixty- 
five points for the six. Now if the next Essex 
doesn’t finish in twenty-fifth place or better we 
have it — and here they come ! ’ ’ 

A knot of struggling figures came down the 
stretch, one Essex runner in its midst. 

“There goes our last chance!” 

134 


'WARRINGTON WINS^' 


‘ ‘ No ! ’ ’ said Lord, excitedly. ‘ ^ Kingston will 
give him a race for it ! Kingston ! Kingston ! ^ ’ 

The rest of the party took np the cry. They 
were ready to yell for anyone or anything that 
could keep the Essex runner out of the vital 
place. Half way down the stretch the group 
split, four figures responding to the encourag- 
ing shouts of the crowd. The orange striped 
figure was not one of them. 

‘ ^ See ! ’ ’ yelled Trelawney. ‘ ‘ Essex is beaten. 
’Eah for Warrington!’’ 

‘‘Not yet!” admonished Lord. “There’s 
only four in that hunch.” 

‘ ‘ Twenty-one ; two ; three ; four ! ’ ’ counted 
Trelawney, as the runners finished. ‘ ‘ Come on, 
Kingston ! ’ ’ 

Kingston and Essex were fighting it out to 
the last gasp. Weary and mud-stained, they 
staggered down the track. The spectators 
were frantic. 

“Kingston!” “Essex!” “Essex!” “Ra- 
a-a-h!” The cheering culminated in an explo- 
sion of sound. 


135 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Trelawney jammed Lord’s hat over his eyes, 
swung his arms round him and danced for joy. 

Kingston had reached the tape first. Es- 
sex’s total was sixty-six and Warrington had 
won! 


“Well,” said Trelawney, as he settled back in 
his seat on the train an hour later, “that is 
what I call a satisfying afternoon. A clean 
sweep ! Individual and team championship ! 
Essex will be feeling pretty small potatoes to- 
night ! That ’s sure ! ’ ’ 

“Did you see the grin McLane had as he 
went into the dressing rooms ? ’ ’ 

“Well, rather! A yard wide and all wool! 
It’s a big feather in his cap. It is no cinch de- 
veloping six cross-country runners. ’ ’ 

“I wish Bob could have seen it,” remarked 
Livingston. 

“Yes, it’s too bad the Captain had to stay be- 
hind,” assented Lord. 

Livingston hesitated a moment. “Let’s send 
him a telegram,” he suggested at length. 

136 


WARRINGTON WINS^’ 


Bully idea,” said Trelawney enthusiastic- 
ally. ^^We will have to hurry, though. The 
train leaves in two minutes.” 

‘‘Idl do it,” said Livingston, and he hurried 
off, pursued by the suggestions of his friends as 
to the wording of the missive. 

Bob was in the act of changing his clothes 
preparatory to making his evening trip fur- 
naceward, when a double rap on the door inter- 
rupted his thoughts. 

He tore open the envelope handed to him and 
his face lighted up, as he read. 

‘^Newton wins Warrington wins sixty-five to 
Essex sixty-six great race.” 

‘‘ThaHs mighty thoughtful of the fellows,” 
he muttered. ‘^Jove, I wish I had been there, 
though. It must have been great ! ’ ’ 

His evening ^s work seemed lighter than usual, 
thanks to the telegram. It gave him some- 
thing to think of and his fertile imagination 
had no difficulty in conjuring up the events of 
the afternoon. The rattle of the coal became 
the clamor of the spectators ; the whistle of the 

137 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


draught, the deep breathing of exhausted run- 
ners, and the dropping of coals from the grate, 
the pad, pad of tired feet. 

So it was with head up and swinging gait, 
glowing with the dignity of honest labor, that 
he returned to his rooms, where he was smoth- 
ered by the welcome of the returned party. 

‘‘Ah,’’ he said with deep satisfaction, as he 
threw himself down on the divan, “now tell me 
all about it!” 


1138 


CHAPTER XIII 


A TOUGH PKOBLEM 

Wheit the first snowstorm of the year ar- 
rived Bob Walters found his daily task not so 
easy as he had first thought it. 

It was one thing to get up on a crisp autumn 
morning with the sun just peeping above the 
roof tops, and quite another to tumble out of his 
warm bed in the blackness of a dreary dawn, 
with no sign of the sun to keep him company. 

‘Ht^s no joke now,’’ he said to Livingston, 
one evening as they sat in the study. ‘‘Just 
listen to that wind howl! It’s snowing hard, 
and I’ll be up to my waist in drifts in the morn- 
ing. If it wasn’t for the kindness of the vari- 
ous cooks in giving me hot coffee, I don’t know 
what I should do, I get so cold. The furnaces 
eat up, a lot more coal, too !” 

139 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

‘‘Have you looked round for another job,’’ 
asked Livingston sympathetically. 

“That’s the question I am leading up to, Liv. 
I want your advice,” returned Bob thought- 
fully. “I was called up most unexpectedly 
from Mr. Young’s office and asked to go down 
and see him.” 

“He is very much interested in Warrington, 
isn’t he?” 

“Yes, indeed! Mad about it. I don’t be- 
lieve he has missed a football game in twenty 
years. He is a lawyer, you know.” 

“Did you go down?” 

“Yes. I saw him at four this afternoon.” 

“Well?” said Livingston impatiently, as Bob 
hesitated. ‘ ‘ What happened ? ’ ’ 

Bob laughed. “I am afraid I surprised him 
a bit. He was very cordial. Talked football 
for half an hour. Asked me all about next 
year’s prospects, and finally offered me fifteen 
dollars a week to do some proof correcting for 
him.” 

“Why, that’s bully. Bob!” interrupted Liv- 
140 


A TOUGH PROBLEM 


ingston warmly. ‘‘That will pat you on your 
feet at once. ’ ’ 

“Just wait till you hear the last of itj^ Bob 
retorted grimly. “I asked him to explain just 
what my duties would be. It appears that he 
has been writing a book on some abstruse legal 
subject with countless references to the reports. 
I was to verify these notes. It is a big job and 
would need great care. He showed me how to 
find the reports, and said his clerks would show 
me the rest. I was to choose my own time, and 
he thought it ought to take me till May to finish 
the job. He said the pay wasnT any too good, 
and I would have thought so myself three 
months ago, but I have learned that dollars 
don’t come so easily as all that.” Bob paused 
again. 

“Well, go on!” commanded his friend. 

“I asked him why he had oifered me the 
place, and he said ‘he was always glad to help 
a man who showed he could help himself.’ He 
had evidently heard about the furnaces. Then 
I asked him if there weren’t men in the law 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


school who were working their way through col- 
lege who could do the work better than I could, 
and be glad of the chance on those terms. 

^‘He didn’t deny that^ but said he was in- 
terested particularly in me. He had watched 
me play and wanted to help me stay in college. 
I thanked him and told him I would let him 
know in the morning.” 

^‘Why on earth didn’t you snap up such a 
chancel” exclaimed Livingston, with surprise. 
^^What quixotic idea have you got in your 
head now I” 

Bob smiled. ‘ ‘ I thought, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ that you 
would give it that name, but wait till you hear 
my thought, and then tell me what to do. I 
really do need your advice!” 

^^No you don’t!” retorted Livingston, ironi- 
cally. “You simply want me to confirm you in 
the course you have already decided on.” 

“Well, listen, anyway ! The reason I did not 
snap it up, as you say, was because it didn’t 
seem right. Do you suppose I would have been 
offered a cinch job like that if it were not for 
142 


A TOUGH PROBLEM 


the fact that I am captain of the Warrington 
University football team. Here is a man ad- 
mittedly much interested in Warrington’s suc- 
cess next fall. He is anxious for the team to 
succeed after the defeats of the past two years. 
He is good enough to believe that I add strength 
to the team, that my football ability is some- 
thing that should not be lost for the sake of a 
little money, and he is willing to put up the 
money. ’ ’ 

‘^But,” remonstrated Livingston, ^^he is get- 
ting a return for that money. He is not giving 
it to you. ’ ’ 

‘‘Nonsense. Do you suppose that he would 
make such terms with one of his clerks, or an 
undergraduate of the law school, unless he was 
an athlete. He might get some return, for of 
course I would do the work to the best of my 
ability. But the point is that he offers such 
terms simply because I am a football player. 
He could get the work done better for half that 
amount. ’ ’ 

“Well, what of it? It’s his own money. If 

143 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


he makes a bad bargain that’s his lookout.” 

Certainly. But there is my end of it. If 
I take money which I am really not earning, 
which is given to me not to help me get an edu- 
cation but to enable me to represent Warring- 
ton on the football field — why am I not a pro- 
fessional?” 

‘^Oh, pshaw!” said Livingston. ‘Won are 
splitting hairs. Don’t look a gift horse in the 
mouth. You can’t be expected to know just 
why or for what reasons Mr. Young chooses to 
offer you a lucrative position. There might be 
a thousand reasons. Take the one he gives. 
He has seen you play, likes you, hears of your 
manly attitude with regard to the furnaces, and 
is desirous of helping you for yourself. It may 
be that he takes more interest in you because 
you are a football player, but you don’t know 
that he wouldn’t do the same, if you were the 
veriest dub on the team instead of the star 
player. Don ’t be foolish 1 ’ ’ 

don’t want to be foolish, Liv. It would be 
a big help to have this position. There is no 
144 


A TOUGH PROBLEM 


denying that. It would put me on my feet at 
once and help me to save up against the Euro- 
pean trip. But somehow it doesn’t seem quite 
square — ” 

‘‘It must be done every day in all the col- 
leges,” said Livingston. “And nothing is 
thought of it.” 

“Of course it is, Liv, all the time. Let any 
man who has to work his way through college 
make a name as an athlete, and his life is at 
once made easy in a dozen ways. I don’t be- 
lieve there is a college in the United States 
where it doesn’t occur. 

“But that is beside the point. In many 
cases, the money paid is well earned, but in the 
majority of cases, the particular individual gets 
some soft snap where the coin is plentiful and 
the work slack. And I confess I can’t see such 
an awful lot of difference between that type and 
the man who is regularly paid to play. ’ ’ 

“I see your thought,” said Livingston after 
a pause. “And I must confess I think there is 
a good deal in what you say. On the other 

145 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


hand Mr. Young would hardly ask you to do 
something that wasn’t right.” 

‘‘Wouldn’t her’ Bob laughed. “Why, 
Liv, the old graduates would go through fire 
and water to produce a winning team. I don’t 
mean to insinuate that they would act unfairly, 
deliberately, but somehow in matters of this 
kind,” Bob laughed mirthlessly, “their judg- 
ment seems to get warped ! ’ ’ 

“Don’t act hastily. Bob,” cautioned Living- 
ston. “Sleep on it. I’ll think it over and let 
you know in the morning. Here comes Trel,” 
he added, as he heard a step on the stairs. 
“Shall we ask him?” 

“No, don’t say anything to Trel. You um 
derstand, even if you don’t agree with me, but 
I am afraid he wouldn’t.” 


146 


CHAPTER XIV 


BOB ’S DECISION 

‘‘You spoilt my sleep for me last night/’ 
cried Livingston, as he and Bob walked to 
breakfast. “I thought over the proposition 
from every point of view.” 

“What conclusion did you come to!” asked 
Bob. 

“That you ought to accept. Mr. Young 
may have made the offer for several reasons. 
That he likes you personally, and is anxious to 
help you get your education; that he is willing 
to assist any man who is recommended by the 
Dean ; that he really wants the work done and 
thinks you are the man to do it ; or finally, your 
proposition that he wants to make sure that 
Warrington will have you to depend on next 
fall. 

“If you could be sure that the last is the real 

147 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


explanation of the otier, I would agree with 
you, and think you should refuse it. But it 
may be any one of the others and in that case 
you simply offend a good friend without reason. 
My advice is, take it, and if you find later that 
you are not able to give a fair return for the 
money, drop out.’’ 

Bob thought over his companion’s remarks in 
silence until they reached the dining hall and 
then nodded his head in doubt. 

can’t feel satisfied about it until I ask Mr. 
Young some more questions,” he said. “I’ll 
have to take the chance of his getting angry.” 

It is so much easier to take things as they 
come, and ignore what lies beneath the surface, 
that Bob felt uncomfortable all the morning. 
A fear of being considered quixotic fought with 
his desire to stand well in his own eyes and he 
heartily wished that Mr. Young’s kindness had 
alighted on someone else. 

“I think on the whole, sir,” he said, “that I 
cannot accept your very kind offer. I don’t 
feel that I could do the work satisfactorily.” 
148 


BOB^S DECISION 


Bob put his refusal on this ground hoping 
that he would escape the necessity of telling the 
real reason. Mr. Young however, quickly 
made this impossible. 

‘^Nonsense he said brusquely. ‘Mt is 
work that only requires average intelligence. 
You could do it easily.’’ 

am afraid I can’t accept,” persisted Bob, 
bluntly. 

‘‘Why not?” 

“Please don’t misunderstand me; I can’t ac- 
cept, because I don’t feel that I would be giving 
you fair value for the salary.” 

“What on earth — ” began Mr. Young, 
amazed; then he caught himself. “Don’t you 
think I should be the judge of that?” he said. 

“Yes, if you would be square about it!” 
blurted out poor Bob, desperately. “What I 
want to know, is whether you would have of- 
fered this position to me if I were not a ’Varsity 
football player?” 

Mr. Young controlled his rising anger and 
looked at Bob with a close scrutiny. 

149 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


“I would probably never have heard of you 
then/’ he said coldly. Then his anger got the 
better of him. ‘‘What I should like to know is 
what you mean by this cross-examination. I 
hear that a man is in trouble, a man whom I 
respect both for himself and his football ability. 
I offer him a job thinking to lend him a helping 
hand, and he turns on me with all sorts of wild 
questions. Is that the way to treat an 
offer — ” 

“But,” interrupted Bob, “don’t you see that 
I can’t accept this job if you offer it on ac- 
count of my football I ’ ’ 

“No ! I don’t. Of course I am more willing 
to help you because of your football. I am in- 
terested in the University and dislike to see a 
good man dropped for want of money. Why 
shouldn’t I offer help?” 

“Because I would be accepting money for 
athletics! Oh, I know,” he continued after a 
moment’s pause, “that this sounds quixotic tp 
you, but what is the difference between that and 
professionalism? You admit the wages are 
150 


BOB^S DECISION 


high ; the work better done by a man trained in 
the subject, but you offer it to me to enable me 
to represent Warrington in athletics. Don’t 
you seef^^ 

Mr. Young sat at his desk looking thought- 
fully out of the window for some time without 
speaking. 

His face, which had been stern with anger as 
Bob began to speak, softened, and he turned to- 
wards him at last with a growing look of re- 
spect and kindliness. 

‘^Walters,” he said. ‘Wou have given me 
food for thought. Of course you are right 
theoretically, but I have never thought it was 
practical or necessary to dissect motives too 
far. I won’t say I agree with you, but I un- 
derstand your point of view and respect you for 
the courage it must have needed to stand up for 
it. I am sorry you won’t accept this job, but 
perhaps I can find you another. And, ’ ’ he 
rose from his seat and took Bob’s hand, ^‘keep 
your ideals, boy, as long as you can ! ’ ’ 

Livingston heard of Bob’s decision with re- 

151 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

gret that his friend should lose the money, but 
with pride that he had had the strength of his 
convictions. 

Bob was miserable for a day or so, because 
he felt he had thrown away money he needed, 
but soon his added respect caused him once 
more to take a pleasure in his work. 

^^When are you going to make enough to be 
a free agent again, asked Trelawney one 
evening, as they sat before a blazing fire in the 
study. 

“Even if I had the money I wouldn’t be a 
free agent,” said Bob. “That is, not until the 
^mid-years’ are over. Do you realize that the 
holidays come next week and that the exams 
start two weeks after we get back. I’m further 
back in my work than I have ever been, thanks 
to those furnaces. And I don’t believe,” Bob 
looked at Trelawney keenly, “that you are any 
too well prepared, since I have not been able to 
keep an eye on you. ’ ’ 

Trelawney flushed. “I don’t know about 
152 


BOB^S DECISION 


that,” he said slowly. ‘‘I have done quite a bit 
of work off and on.” 

A knock on the door was followed by the 
hasty entrance of, Newton. 

“Where do you think I have been?” he asked 
before he was fairly seated. 

“Give it up,” announced Trelawney without 
hesitation. 

“With the Dean. He called a meeting of the 
four class presidents to discuss his hobby — 
the honor system. This time he is really go- 
ing to put it through. He wants us to call meet- 
ings of our various classes and propose it to 
them. His idea is to have a committee ap- 
pointed to formulate rules and regulations. 
He wants it done before the holidays too. ^ ’ 

“He’ll have to hurry,” commented Living- 
ston. 

“Well, this preliminary committee is to re- 
port at once — then we are to let it lie till the 
new term, so that the college will have a chance 
to digest the idea, and then vote on it. ’ ’ 

153 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

‘^What did you think of it?” asked Living- 
ston. 

‘‘I thought it could be tried now with suc- 
cess, and so did Prentice. Johns of the Soph- 
omores was doubtful, and Bull, the freshie, 
hadn’t any opinion at all.” 

‘‘We will be mighty lucky if we escape with- 
out a bad scandal the first year,” said Bob, 
thoughtfully. “It takes time to develop the 
spirit that will make it successful.” 

“I doubt if one would ever be really safe 
from trouble,” said Livingston. “There are 
bound to be some men in as large a community 
as this who will not have the principles to hold 
them straight.” 

“Well,” said Newton, “I have already posted 
a notice for a class meeting on Monday, and we 
will have a chance to air our views then. ’ ’ 

The news of the intended innovation spread 
like wild-fire through the college and the Junior 
meeting was well attended. Newton called the 
class to order and explained the business in 
hand, 


154 


BOB^S DECISION 


‘‘This meeting,’’ he said, “will cornet us to 
nothing final. Our idea is to appoint a com- 
mittee of three to confer with the representa- 
tives of the other classes. This committee will 
make its report on Friday, so that you will 
have a chance to think the matter over during 
vacation. We have already collected data from 
other colleges concerning the working of such a 
system, which will be put at the disposal of the 
committee. I should be glad to hear some de- 
bate on the subject.” 

“Mr. President!” 

“Mr. Carey!” 

“Do I understand that the appointment of 
this committee binds us in no way? Is simply 
a means of placing the question informally be- 
fore the classes, to be subsequently voted 
upon?” 

“That is correct.” 

“Then,” continued Carey, “I move that the 
class empower the President to appoint a com- 
mittee of three to confer with other similar 
committees from the other classes on drawing 

155 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

up a of rules for the establishment of the 
honor system. Said committee to report not 
later than Friday.’’ 

“Second the motion,” said Warwick. 

“Do you notice how Warwick has become a 
seconder instead of a proposer,” said Trelaw- 
ney, nudging Livingston, as they stood in. the 
rear of the room. 

“All those in favor — ” began Newton— 

“Aye,” rang out tumultuously. 

“ Contrary minded r ’ 

No answer. 

“The motion is carried. I will appoint 
Messrs. Livingston, Carey, and Lawton,” an- 
nounced Newton. And the meeting adjourned. 

The three juniors lost no time in joining with 
the others, and after several meetings, came to 
an agreement. The rules were approved by thee* 
Dean, and on Friday were brought before the 
classes for comment. 

Livingston as chairman of the Junior com- 
mittee read the report. 

“We tried to make it as simple as possible,” 
156 


BOB^S DECISION 


he said by way of explanation, ^‘and I think it 
should prove satisfactory — ’’ 

He then began to read : 

In consideration of the withdrawal of 
members of the faculty during an examination, 
beyond what is necessary for the distribution of 
papers, etc., we, the undersigned, members of 
the class of 19 — , do pledge ourselves to re- 
nounce all outside aid and to avoid any unfair 
advantage during said examination. 

‘ ‘ 2. That we pledge ourselves to report to the 
committee any evidence of cheating which we 
may discover. 

‘‘3. That the said committee shall be com- 
posed of three members from each of the four 
classes, such committee to be empowered to 
summo:^. witnesses and administer justice. 

‘‘4. T.hat tlSfe*penalty for breaking this pledge 
by cheating or cribbing, shall be dismissal from 
the University or sucbr^lighter pimishment as 
the committee may, in view of all the circum- 
stances, see fit to impose . : 

As Livingston finished reading, murmurs 

157 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


arose from different parts of the room. New- 
ton hurriedly stepped forward. 

‘‘Is there any debated’ 

“I move that the report be laid on the table 
until the next meeting,’^ said Bob Walters, 
jumping to his feet. “The committee is to be 
congratulated upon its report, but I think dis- 
cussion could more profitably be postponed un- 
til we meet again. ’ ’ 

This motion was carried, and the meeting 
broke up in a storm of conversation. 

“Humph said Tracy, as he passed out with 
Bob. “The price of kerosene will go up if that 
goes through!^’ 


158 


CHAPTEE XV 


THE HONOE SYSTEM 

Bob Walters returned from the Christmas 
vacation with an easier mind than he had car- 
ried away with him. 

The welcome news had greeted him on his ar- 
rival at home, that the bankas affairs were in 
much better state than had been at first sup- 
posed, and that though it would take some time 
for its business to be put once more upon a pay- 
ing basis, the stockholders were assured of 
eventually receiving some return on the invest- 
ment. 

This comforting information made him look 
forward to the future with assurance, and he 
took up the college routine with renewed zest. 

Naturally, the chief topic of interest was the 
vote on the honor system. Each class was to 
have the privilege of adopting it or not, irre- 
IS9 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


spective of the action taken by the others. It 
was a foregone conclusion that 4^^. Seniors 
would vote in favor of it. The Juni^^lass was 
doubtful; the others unknown quantities. 

see its advantages/’ said Carey, one even- 
ing. ‘‘And it is difficult to advance anything 
against it, without laying oneself open to the 
charge of personal interest. And I think it will 
go through, if for no other reason, but it seems 
very much to me like playing with fire. ’ ’ 

“In what way?” asked Livingston. 

“Human nature is human nature. When 
you safeguard a man against himself by having 
him watched all his life, so that he associates 
examinations with the distrust of the faculty 
for his honesty, he is very apt to do himself an 
injustice the first time temptation is put in his 
way and restraint removed.” 

“But all restraint is not removed,” objected 
Livingston. “He will suffer the same punish- 
ment if discovered cheating by any of his class- 
mates.” 

i6o 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


‘‘Yes, I know. But I am afraid there are a 
lot of men.;!^ho will feel that a classmate won’t 
tell on them. And anyway, most men are hon- 
est because they are afraid not to be.” 

“Aren’t you putting the average pretty low? 
I’d hate to think that I should cheat even if I 
knew no one could catch me,” retorted Living- 
ston, warmly. 

“I hope I am,” agreed Carey, “but I think 
not.” 

“It will he an interesting experiment, any- 
way. I think the time is ripe for it, if it ever 
will be, and I for one will support it heartily.” 

“You’ll have your opportunity then, in two 
days,” said Newton, who had been lolling over 
the fire. “I have called a meeting for Wednes- 
day. ’ ’ 

When the President called the class to order, 
he «aw before him the largest assembly over 
which he had ever presided. Hardly a man 
who belonged to 19 — was missing. It was 
evident that the project had aroused unpre- 
i6i 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

cedented interest and that whatever the vote, 
the result would truly represent the opinion of 
the class. 

''As you doubtless know,’' said Newton, "the 
other classes are holding meetings similar to 
this at this moment, with the idea of securing a 
vote from the college as a whole uninfluenced by 
the action of any one class. It will therefore 
be necessary to take two ballots; one on the 
main question as to whether we wish the honor 
system; and the second on the regulations for 
its enforcement as drawn up by the committee. 
Debate on the first question is now in order. ’ ’ 

"Mr. President.” 

"Mr. Blake.” 

"If I am correctly informed, the agitation 
which has resulted in this meeting owes its in- 
ception to the Dean. Now, I believe in our 
head — and in most things, I have no desire to 
go against his wishes ; but in this I must. Such 
a movement, of such vital interest to the student 
body should, it seems to me, come solely from 
162 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


that body. If we adopt this system, we should 
do so because the students desire it. Now I 
volunteer the statement that without the sug- 
gestion of the Dean we would not be here to- 
day to consider it. The students would never 
have entertained the idea.^^ 

‘‘There you are wrong/’ interrupted a voice 
from the rear of the room. 

‘ ‘ Silence ! ’ ’ commanded N ewton. ‘ ‘ Mr. Blake 
has the floor.” 

“If I am mistaken in my facts, Mr. Presi- 
dent,” continued Blake unperturbed, “I shall 
be very glad to hear the gentleman when I have 
finished. I made those statements, however, 
advisedly. There is another weakness in the 
honor system which I wish to attack. In my 
opinion, students should not be made to spy 
upon one another as we shall be called upon to 
do. No man wants to ruin ariother’s career. 
The professors give us the examinations, and 
they are the ones who should do the dirty work. 
I shall vote against it. ’ ’ 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Blake sat down amid some slight cheers, but 
it was evident that the class was far from sure 
of its own opinion.” 

‘‘Mr. President.” 

A quiet voice, from the back of the room, ad- 
dressed the chair. There was a sudden cran- 
ing of necks and shifting of position to discover 
who was taking upon himself the burden of a 
reply to Blake’s speech. 

“Mr. Livingston!” 

“I must agree and disagree with the last 
speaker. He is undoubtedly correct in saying 
that the honor system was brought to our notice 
by the Dean, but that the college is not ready to 
pass upon the question competently and con- 
clusively, I most decidedly deny!” 

“Hurrah for Livingston!” yelled a class ir- 
repressible. 

“The system should be adopted or rejected,” 
continued the speaker, “without regard to its 
sponsor. That we should become a class of 
‘spies,’ as my friend suggests, I also deny. I 
should be loath to believe that any consider- 
164 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


able percentage of this class approves of crib- 
bing. I think that those who do make a prac- 
tice of it, consider it no more than a contest of 
wits between student and professor, and stop 
whenever the latter leaves the room. It may 
well be, that if the honor system is adopted 
some student will still crib, and may either not 
be seen, or be unreported through the mistaken 
idea that to report is to spy. But unreported 
or not, that student will soon find a cold shoul- 
der turned to him by his friends. Of that I am 
sure, for we represent the Warrington stand- 
ard! And that sentiment once known — crib- 
bing will cease. I heartily urge you all to sup- 
port this change.’’ 

Livingston sat down. Quick applause 
seemed to indicate that his words had caught 
the popular fancy. 

move the debate closed,” said Bob Walt- 
ers, jumping up and seizing the psychological 
moment, ‘ ‘ and ask for the question. ’ ’ 

This motion was quickly passed, and the tell- 
ers distributed ballots. 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

‘^Simply indicate your vote by ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ ” 
ordered Newton, and for a while there was 
heard the scribbling of many pencils. 

Amid breathless silence the tellers computed 
the vote, and finally arose to report: “Ayes, 
228; nays, 43.” 

“The motion is passed,” said Newton 
gravely, “19 — stands pledged for the honor 
system.” 

The committee’s report was likewise favored, 
and the class waited impatiently to hear the re- 
sult of the vote in the other meetings. 

At length an envelope was handed to Newton. 
He took it and laid it carefully on the table. 

“What’s the news?” “Tell us the vote!” 
came from all parts of the room. 

“You must wait a while,” replied the Presi- 
dent. “We agreed to make the announcements 
simultaneously. So far I have heard only from 
the Seniors.” 

“They are a foregone conclusion, anyway,” 
commented Bob. 

“Which is that?” was again called out as an- 
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“ 'pHE MOTION IS PASSED ” 










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THE HONOR SYSTEM 


other envelope was deposited upon the table. 

‘‘Freshmen!’^ said Newton briefly. 

wish the Sophs would hurry, grumbled 
Tracy. 

‘^Here it is!’’ shouted a score of voices. 
^^Now! Let’s have it!” 

With eager fingers, Newton ripped open the 
three envelopes. He studied the enclosures for 
a moment, and then advanced to the edge of the 
platform. 

“I have the pleasure of announcing,” he said, 
‘Hhat Warrington goes solid for the honor sys- 
tem ! ’ ’ 

'^Wliat was the vote!” 

^‘The Seniors unanimously,” he replied, con- 
sulting the slips. ‘^Freshmen 286 to 112; the 
Sophomores had a close fight, 190 to 162.” 

‘‘Well, good-bye, fellows,” said Tracy, jump- 
ing from his seat. 

“Where are you bound in all that hurry?” 
asked Carey. 

“To study!” said Tracy humorously, and the 
meeting adjourned. 


167 


CHAPTER XVI 


A PLEASANT PROSPECT 

^‘Have yon heard the latest!’’ asked Trelaw- 
ney with importance, as he threw his note books 
on the table. 

‘‘No! What!” 

“Yon won’t treat it with snch indifference, 
Bob, when yon hear it. It’s the best I conld 
possibly bring.” 

“Not — !” began Bob, sitting np eagerly. 

“Yes!” said Trelawney explosively. “The 
track team is to go to Paris for the Olympic 
Games.” 

“That’s great, isn’t it!” said Bob warmly. 
“WTiere did yon hear it!” 

“McLane told me as I came np the street. 
Won’t there be a merry bnnch ont this spring 
trying for a place !” 

“Is it absolntely settled!” 

i68 


A PLEASANT PROSPECT 


‘‘Well, the faculty has given its permission. 
The alumni are for it, and it is simply a ques- 
tion of raising the money.’’ 

“ H ’m. That will be the hardest part. ’ ’ 

“No, I don’t think so. When Warrington 
alumni approve of a scheme and think it is 
going to be a good thing for the old college, the 
question of money has never stood much in the 
way. ’ ’ 

“You are right there, Trel. But a trip like 
this will cost a pile of money, won’t it!” 

“ Yes. It will be very expensive. And of 
course the number of men taken will depend on 
the amount raised. But I venture to state that 
any man who scores a point in the Intercolle- 
giates will not be left out. It’s going to be one 
great glorious picnic ! ’ ’ 

“It’s an inducement which will certainly 
make me work my hardest to score that neces- 
sary point. I won’t miss that trip if it is in me 
to make good.” 

“You ought to have a good chance in the 
quarter this year, Bob. With White out of the 
169 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

way, and normal improvement on your part 
you might even hope for a championship. ’ ^ 

^‘No flattery between friends, Trel,’’ said 
Bob laughing. ‘‘Championships will hardly 
come my way this year. ’ ^ 

“I am perfectly serious,’’ protested Trelaw- 
ney. “You ran a mighty clever race last year, 
and it’s no disgrace to finish third eight yards 
back when the winner does forty-nine four ! ’ ’ 
“Well, all this is very nice, but it won’t help 
us across. I vote we do some work. For I 
presume the faculty will not change its rules 
about dropped students even for the Olympic 
Games! How are you feeling about the ex- 
ams?” 

‘ ‘ Pretty confident, on the whole. The scare I 
had last year will last me some time. I am not 
looking for any more trouble just now. How is 
your work coming on?” 

“You mean my furnaces? Only so-so.” 
“Are you making enough out of it to go to 
Paris?” 

“I think so, if our main expenses are paid. 

170 


A PLEASANT PROSPECT 


Of course I won’t have enough pocket money to 
do much, if anything, but I will be able to take 
the trip. It will mean strict economy from now 
on, however.” 

^ ‘ Have you ever been to Paris, Bob 1 ’ ’ 

^‘No, indeed. I have never been abroad at 
all. Livingston is the only one of our crowd 
who has, I think.” 

^‘We will have to persuade him to go with us, 
then, to act as guide.” 

‘‘Persuade who?” asked Livingston, coming 
into the room. 

“ You ! Have you heard the news ? ’ ’ 

“What news?” asked Livingston. 

“That will be a great trip,” he continued, 
when Trelawney had outlined the situation to 
him. “And I certainly would like to join the 
party. Who of our crowd will be taken?” 

“Newton, certainly, also Trelawney, and per- 
haps myself. If you will come and we can per- 
suade Tracy we would have a mighty fine 
time. ’ ’ 

“We can persuade Tracy easily enough. He 
171 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

always has more money than he knows what to 
do with,’’ said Trelawney. ’^Liv will be the 
difficult one.” 

Livingston smiled. ‘‘I may not prove as dif- 
ficult as you think,” he said. “Paris always 
has been a lodestone to me.” 

It was with an unusual amount of interest 
that Bob started to college on the day the mid- 
year examinations began. He found by the 
early attendance of the other students con- 
cerned that he was not alone in his desire to 
try the honor system. 

Once seated and the paper handed to him by 
the assistant professor in charge of the rcOm 
he looked around keenly. The sight was a 
novel one. Instead of the rows of stiffened 
men, each one afraid to look up or move nat- 
urally, for fear that a keen-eyed watcher would 
immediately make himself obnoxious by moving 
in that direction ; instead of a half dozen watch- 
ers pacing slowly up and down the room, he 
saw the assistant professor sitting comfortably 
172 


A PLE^ASANT PROSPECT 


at the desk absorbed in a book ; and the students 
moving freely round among their fellows ; drop- 
ping a word here and there or stretching tired 
muscles. 

Bob liked the change. The removal of strict 
discipline had taken with it half the terrors of 
the examination. Bob found that he could 
think more easily, more naturally, and falling 
quickly to work the difficulties of the paper 
were smoothed away. 

Finishing his task well within the alloted 
time, he left the class room a firm adherent of 
the innovation and expressed himself freely to 
the knot of men assembled outside. 

‘‘Why, an examination is a different thing 
entirely!’’ he exclaimed as he joined them. “I 
felt no qualms at all. I was perfectly at my 
ease, and I know I handed in a better paper 
than usual.” 

“I felt somewhat the same way,” said War- 
wick. “It is a rather curious psychological 
phenomenon. Because to the man who is ac- 

173 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


ciistomed to rely on his own knowledge it should 
make no difference whether professors are 
present or not.’^ 

‘‘That is true, in a sense,” said Bob. “But 
haven T you ever been thinking hard, oblivious 
of your surroundings, and suddenly awaken to 
the fact that you are looking directly at an- 
other man’s paper, and then find a prof eyeing 
you suspiciously!” 

They all laughed. “You bet I have,” said 
Carey. “And I always blush to the roots of 
my hair and the professor thinks his suspicions 
correct. It’s a wonder to me that I haven’t 
been hauled up before the Dean already ! ’ ’ 

“Perhaps you should have been,” suggested 
Trelawney with a grin. 

But the usual well-aimed cushion wiped out 
this outrageous suggestion. 


174 


ohaptee xvn 


BOB IS NOT SUKE 

The new system seemed to meet with suc- 
cess, and Bob, who was keenly interested in 
its theory as well as pleased with its practice, 
felt relieved at the end of the first week. 

The examination in chemistry was fixed for 
Monday of the second week, and Bob entered 
the class room with no doubts as to his ability 
to pass creditably. The exact sciences inter- 
ested him, and he found with every month of 
his life that his brain was responding to the 
training he had given it. 

He took the first seat that had good light 
and sitting back busied himself with arranging 
his papers. 

Under the new system a condition had arisen 
which proved to be somewhat annoying. With 
the removal of the professors, the examinations 
I7S 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


lost much of their strain and students began 
to stand much less in awe of them. The re- 
sult was to make certain men very unpunctual 
in their attendance and consequently the exam- 
ination room remained in a turmoil for many 
precious minutes of each test. 

Nothing can be perfect/’ Bob consoled him- 
self, as he vainly tried to concentrate his mind 
on the paper. ‘^And the Dean will soon put a 
stop to this sort of thing.” 

He looked around the room and saw that 
the most conscientious men were in their places ; 
it was only that type who skate through col- 
lege on the bare edge of failure that were thus 
taking advantage of the new-found freedom. 
Trelawney threw him a comical glance of 
dismay, nodding meanwhile at the paper, and 
Bob smiled back encouragement. Warwick 
and Livingston had seats in front of him, but 
to one side, as he sat for some moments study- 
ing the latter’s fine profile and admiring the 
evidences of power and moral restraint which 
marked his countenance. 


BOB IS NOT SURE 


At length, the room having attained a nearly 
normal quiet, he turned to his paper and found 
that he needed to call all his knowledge of the 
subject to his aid. 

The professor who had picked out the ten 
questions that mocked him must have had in- 
digestion at the time, thought Bob, or ^ ‘ at least 
an awful grouch from some cause. These ques- 
tions are fierce!’’ 

He bent himself to his task, and for a long 
time nothing of the noise in the room entered 
his inner consciousness. He paid no attention 
to the exclamations, the stamping of feet, rus- 
tle of papers and scratchings of pens, in short, 
the thousand and one small disturbances which 
are the natural accompaniment of an examina- 
tion, and which, once listened to, are fatal to 
concentration. 

Bob had learned this lesson early in his 
career, and made a habit of dissecting each 
question briefly, jotting down the formulas or 
principles involved while his brain was still 
fresh and concentration easy for him. Thus as 
177 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


the period passed and his mind grew more slug- 
gish, he would be confronted by nothing more 
difficult than the application and expansion of 
the various formulas. 

With six questions behind him, neatly an- 
alyzed, labeled and put safely on paper, he drew 
a sigh of relief and leaning back in his chair, 
allowed himself the luxury of a stretch and a 
few moments of idleness. 

‘‘I am mighty glad I put those extra hours 
in on this subject,’’ he soliloquized. There is 
not an easy question in the list.” 

His glance roamed through the room and he 
fell to speculating on the chances of his friends. 

‘ ‘ Trelawney seems to be making bad weather 
of it,” he thought, as he saw the big guard 
knit his brows and stare aggressively at the 
paper; apparently doing more thinking than 
writing. ‘Hf he were the same old Trel of 
freshman year I would not have much hope for 
him, but lately he has developed into quite a 
student. ’ ’ 

Livingston was also thinking, but it was clear 
178 


BOB IS NOT SURE 


to the most casual observer of expressions that 
he was considering how to express a thought, 
rather than what to say. 

''No danger in that quarter,’^ concluded Bob, 
"unless it is that he won’t get the highest 
mark. ’ ’ 

Bob’s gaze shifted again and after passing 
idly over a number of hardworking and per- 
plexed students lighted upon Warwick, when it 
came to a sudden halt. 

He was seated across the aisle from and one 
row in front of Bob, and when the latter’s at- 
tention was attracted was leaning over his desk, 
his hand in a position to write, but his keen 
eyes bent upon the paper of the man in front 
of him, one of the best students in the class. 

Bob felt himself grow cold at the sight. 
When he had advocated the Honor System, and 
minimized the objections of his fellows to the 
duty of informing upon a fellow student, his 
enthusiasm for what he knew to be a good cause 
had tended to make him regard the subject 
from an impersonal view-point. He had never 
179 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


thouglit what his own feelings might be if fate 
should call upon him to play the role of in- 
former. Bob clinched the arm of his chair and 
grew pale as he stared. It was not alone that 
his duty clearly called him to the distasteful 
act, but that it was Warwick of all persons 
whom he would have to disgrace. Warwick! 
whom every one knew had treated him shab- 
bily, and upon whom, the world would consider, 
it was but natural he should wish to revenge 
himself. 

All these thoughts ran riot in his brain while 
he gazed steadfastly at Warwick, who still 
peered over his neighbor’s shoulder. It seemed 
ages to the watcher, though in reality it was 
but the fraction of a second, before Warwick 
as though drawn by the glare of contempt that 
shot from Bob’s eyes, turned his head and met 
the accusing glance fully. 

His eyes shifted, and a faint color rose in 
his cheeks; then his eyes rose again and he 
smiled cheerfully at Bob before turning back 
to his work. 


i8o 


BOB IS NOT SURE 


Bob felt his own cheeks throb and for the 
moment was thrown otf his balance by the cool 
etfrontery of that smile. 

Could it be that he was mistaken? It was 
an ugly charge to bring without absolute proof, 
and had it not been that he had seen that quick 
glance from right to left under the lowered lids, 
he might have felt satisfied of Warwick’s in- 
nocence. That smile was guileless, but it had 
not made its appearance until Warwick had 
seen that Bob was his sole observer. 

After a long glance at Warwick’s back, Bob 
turned with a sigh to his work, but found his 
ideas scattered and his brain harping on what 
he had seen and his duty in the matter. 

‘^Jove!” he said wearily. ‘^It’s lucky for 
me I wrote out these formulas at once. I can’t 
put my mind on them now!” 

Try as he might, he could not regain his 
usual concentration, and he caught himself’ 
more than once looking over in Warwick’s di- 
rection and giving his attention to that problem 
rather than to those under his nose which sadly 
i8i 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


needed Ms immediate and undivided care. 

At length as the period allotted to the ex- 
amination drew to its close, he folded up his 
papers, realizing well their many deficiencies, 
but unable in his present state of mind to add 
anything to them, and handing his work in at 
the desk, left the room. 

Now that his task was otf his mind, he gave 
himself up unreservedly to the problem that 
harassed him. 

What should he do? Was he certain enough 
to accuse Warwick of cheating? Did he not 
feel sufficiently sure to make concealment im- 
possible without himself being false to his 
word? He walked slowly toward his rooms, 
his mind ringing the changes on these and sim- 
ilar questions, when he heard a voice behind 
him. 

‘^Hello, Bob!’’ 

He faced around. It was Warwick! 

‘Ht’s funny you should have caught my eye 
at just that moment,” he said easily as he fell 
into step beside Bob. ‘^Especially in view of 
182 


BOB IS NOT SURE 


our conversation on the subject the other day.’’ 

‘‘What do you meanT’ asked Bob, coldly. 

“Why, about suddenly finding yourself look- 
ing at another man’s paper without knowing it 
and seeing a professor watching you. You 
made me blush for a moment, just as Carey 
said!” 

“Oh, was that it?” said Bob, staring straight 
ahead of him. Warwick watched his compan- 
ion through narrowed lids as he was speaking, 
and then burst out laughing. 

“Why, of course it was I” he declared. Then 
his voice hardened. “See here. Boh, I don’t 
quite like your tone. I don’t cheat, you know, 
and I don’t want you to suggest it.” His voice 
contained a note of challenge. 

As Warwick was speaking, Bob’s face light- 
ened. “I am afraid I was hasty in jumping 
to that conclusion,” he said apologetically. 
“And I am awfully glad you set me straight. 
I assure you I didn’t relish my position.*” 

After mutual expressions of good will, Bob 
^ continued to his rooms alone, with a load 

183 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


lifted from his mind. He put the occurrence 
from him, determined not to think of it again, 
but as he lay in bed that night he could not for 
the life of him banish the picture of Warwick’s 
face as he gave that glance around just before 
he smiled. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE FKONT PLATFOKM 

glad I am not on the crew,’’ remarked 
Trelawney as he rose from his chair and tore 
March from the calendar. ^‘Easter comes next 
week, and I can use two weeks holiday very 
nicely. The crew men have to stay at college 
in order not to miss their training. I suppose 
you’re going home. Bob, as usual!” 

Bob mused for a moment before replying. 
^‘No. I think not,” he said finally. ^‘My 
finances are pretty low and I don’t think I can 
spare the money for the trip. At any rate I 
can’t throw over my furnaces, and I had 
thought I might make something extra, besides. 
It has been hard to find anything to do, but I 
have something in mind now. ’ ’ 

‘‘Why, that’s hard luck. Bob. You need a 
vacation. You have put in a lot of work this 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


year, and a lay-off would tune you up. Can’t 
you possibly manage it?” Trelawney asked 
sympathetically. 

^‘Not very well,” returned Bob despondently. 

‘‘What sort of work can you get?” 

Bob smiled. “A totally new departure, 
Trel,” he said with a chuckle. “Eunning a 
trolley car!” 

“No?” said Trelawney incredulously. 

“Yes, really. I have a letter in my pocket 
this minute to an official in the Transit Com- 
pany recommending me for the job. You see 
at this time of year, so many men quit trolley- 
ing and strike for the country, they are nearly 
always short-handed.” 

“Have you ever run a car?” asked Trelaw- 
ney with amusement. 

“No,” returned Bob with a grin, “but I have 
always wanted to. Haven T you?” 

“Yes, it does look interesting. I must con- 
fess I have had a secret ambition that way. I 
quite envy you.” 

“There is not so very much in it. But I can 

1 86 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


make something over two dollars a day for 
ten hours work. And every little counts!’’ 

‘^What do you think of thisT’ exclaimed 
Trelawney as Livingston entered the room. 

‘‘Of what?” was the response. Trelawney 
detailed what he chose to call “Bob’s latest es- 
capade,” and Livingston listened in amazed 
silence. 

When the tale was told he turned to the 
culprit. 

“It’s all very well to say you need the money, 
but you know perfectly well that it is the love 
of adventure that calls you, quite as much as 
financial need!” 

To this Bob was forced to give a sheepish 
assent. “I guess that’s so, Liv,” he admitted. 

It was not without some regrets that he saw 
his room-mates haul out their trunks and begin 
packing, that labor of joy when one is faced 
towards home. He almost changed his mind 
at the last moment, but kept a stiff upper lip 
by thinking of the kindness his request for em- 
ployment had met with, and saw his friends 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

off without giving them an inkling of his weak- 
ness. 

His first day was spent standing on the front 
platform of a car being initiated into its mys- 
teries. His teacher was an old hand, grown 
gray in the companies’ service, whose skilful 
management of his duties made it appear so 
easy that Bob felt capable of taking sole charge 
at the end of his first run. 

‘ ‘ Sure, handling the controller and the air ’s 
easy enough,” said the veteran in response to 
a question. ‘^Just open up or shut off. But 
it’s down in the traffic that you need a cool 
head, and that you won’t learn in one trip, no, 
nor twenty unless you’re horn with it! You’d 
think nothing but fools ever used the streets, 
the way you have to look out for them. ’ ’ 

‘‘This is for the rail?” asked Bob interroga- 
tively, touching a bucket of sand with his foot. 

“Yes, you pour it down the hopper there. 
That’s another thing. Wait till the rail’s a 
bit greasy some morning, and you want to stop 
in a hurry. You’ll be lucky if you don’t fetch 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


Tip half a block beyond where you wanted, and 
likely with a team straddling your fender!’’ 

Bob laughed. Don’t tell me all the horrors 
yet,” he said. ‘^You’ll he taking my nerve!” 

The grayhead looked at him shrewdly out of 
eyes strained by long staring ahead. 

“No, lad. You ain’t that kind. I think 
you’ll do.” 

By the second day Boh was allowed to take 
charge, with his teacher at his elbow ready to 
correct mistakes. 

It was with a great sense of importance that 
he fitted his controller handle, tested his air, 
and clanged his gong. His conductor answered 
with two rings, and throwing on the current 
Bob started on his career. 

The first squares were free from traffic and 
every moment found him more confident in his 
ability to control the car. It was a distinct 
pleasure to bring the heavy mass with a swing 
down the street, slow gracefully up at a corner 
and nod in a patronizing manner for the chance 
pedestrian to cross. 


189 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Bill Dugan had made no mistake, however, 
in painting strongly the difficulties to be en- 
countered in heavy traffic, and as Bob’s car 
reached the center of the city, he found every 
faculty necessary to thread his way safely. 

In the tightest corners, however, Dugan was 
on hand to throw on the brake or warn him of 
hidden dangers, and, between the two, the car 
reached the end of its ‘‘down” run without in- 
cident. But Bob felt distinctly tired and wel- 
comed an obstruction in the shape of an un- 
loading coal wagon which gave him a few min- 
utes needed rest. 

Bill Dugan was not much given to praise, 
and contented himself with “Not bad for a 
man’s first run,” when Bob brought the car 
safely back to the barn. 

The schedule called for a lay-oflf of an hour 
at this time and Bob became acquainted with 
the other men. He was at first inclined to find 
them a rather brusque lot, but it did not take 
long for them to discover his identity and he 
immediately became a center of interest and 
190 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


was obliged to give an opinion on Warring- 
ton chances for the next season. 

‘‘Sure, I have heard of you, Walters,’’ was 
the usual remark. “I never seen you play my- 
self, but I’ve hauled out to the grounds a lot 
of them that have!” 

On the fourth day Bob was made a full- 
fledged motorman, and it was with a palpitating 
heart that he left the barn on his first trip 
unattended. 

He had several narrow escapes ; a wordy al- 
tercation with a driver who “dragged” the car 
for two squares, in which Bob came off second 
best; and he jolted his passengers in starting 
and stopping more than is considered good 
form. But he came through in the end without 
a scratch on his paint. The ice broken, he 
quickly gained confidence, and by the end of 
a week felt he was making good. 

Though Bob was paid twenty-two cents an 
hour for a ten-hour day, he found the work 
arduous by reason of the way in which his time 
was split up. Only occasionally did he have 
191. 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


more than six hours off, and frequently not 
more than four. 

This not only broke his rest but prevented 
him from dismissing his work from his mind 
and kept him from attending to his own affairs. 

Most of the men belonged to the Union, and 
Bob had not worked many hours before he was 
approached on the subject. He laughingly de- 
clined in view of his limited engagement, and 
though some of the men were at first apt to 
be gruff about it, they soon saw the justice of 
his position and left him in peace. 

It was a time of unrest and dissatisfaction, 
however, among the men and on Walters’ sixth 
day of employment, a petition was presented to 
the company asking for better hours and more 
pay. 

The Company which had not yet recovered 
from the effect of the panic in which Bob him- 
self had suffered, was not inclined to concede 
the demands, and a deadlock ensued. 

Bob was in a position to see the rights of both 
parties and felt that though the employees had 
192 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


some justice on their side, it was but cutting 
off their own noses to endeavor to enforce 
their claims at this time, a view which he did 
not hesitate to express when asked his opin- 
ion. 

An error in diplomacy made the trolleymen 
more insistent, and what had seemed for a time 
but an amicable disagreement grew in twenty- 
four hours to a threatened strike. In another 
twenty-four, arbitration having failed, the ulti- 
matum had been delivered and a large num- 
ber of men stood ready to go out. 

‘‘You men are unwise,’’ said Bob, to a knot 
of his mates as they sat round the barn. ‘ ‘ The 
Company can’t grant you these wages now!” 

“I guess they’ll have to,” growled one of 
his hearers. “If we get this strike started!” 

“Will you join the union, Walters, nowf’^ 
asked another. 

“No,” said Bob shortly. “I don’t see why 
I should.” 

“Will you go out with us?” persisted the 
other. 


193 


^ JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Bob pondered for a moment. He was in a 
difficult situation. Seeing the justice of the 
men’s demands, he sympathized with them, but 
for him to strike would gain him nothing and 
only lose the money he so badly needed. While 
he was debating his answer a chance remark 
decided him. 

‘^You had better go out with us, unless you 
want to run into trouble.” 

Bob felt his fighting blood rise. He turned 
sharply on the speaker. 

‘‘None of that! You fellows can strike if 
you want to. I think you have a lot of right 
on your side, but you have no license to keep 
others from working if they want to I” 

“Haven’t we though?” jeered his antagonist. 

“I need this money,” went on Bob to the 
crowd in general, ignoring this last interrup- 
tion, “and if I want to stay in I will!” 

The storm which threatened to break round 
Bob’s head at this assertion of independence 
was averted for the moment by the hurried 
194 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 

entrance of a member of the trolleymen^s com- 
mittee. 

^‘The Company refuses flatly to give what we 
want/’ he said breathlessly, ^‘and there’ll be 
a meeting of the union from this barn this even- 
ing at eight!” 

^‘That looks like a strike!” said Dugan 
slowly, and the men drifted apart to discuss 
the news. 

When Bob reported for duty in the morning, 
he found the barn well-nigh deserted. The 
strike was on. 

Knots of his late fellow workmen congre- 
gated at street corners, but they offered no 
comment as he walked by and presented himself 
to the foreman. 

That worthy nearly fell on his neck with joy 
and promptly assigned him a run and started 
him off. 

The Company had been caught unprepared 
by the suddenness of the strike, and though 
they made immediate efforts to enroll a new 
I9S 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

force, the service was much impaired for some 
time. 

The strikers contented themselves with ca- 
joling others to join their union and every day 
new vacancies in the ranks testified to the suc- 
cess of their efforts. 

Bob, however, was not approached again, and 
save for the cold glances he received from the 
men he had been working with, was not incon- 
venienced by the strike for a couple of days. 

The temper of the strikers, however, which 
had been kept well in hand at first, while the 
success of their campaign seemed assured, 
gradually underwent a complete change as the 
days wore on. 

While their old comrades were practically the 
only men the Company had to rely upon, they 
showed their animosity simply by jeers and 
scurrilous remarks, hut as the saying goes, 
‘‘hard words break no hones,” and finding that 
the Company was gradually filling their places, 
they began to resort to violence. 

In the lower quarters of the town many a 
196 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


car lost some of its windows, and Bob’s charge 
lost more paint in one trip than in the week 
he had run it. 

‘^The teamsters are taking sides now,” he 
said to the barn foreman on the fourth day of 
the strike. ‘^They drag you every chance they 
get, and nothing short of a mounted policeman 
can get them off the track.” 

^‘Will you stick it out?” asked the foreman. 

‘‘Sure!” returned Bob with heat. “It’s 
hard work now, and no mistake, but it’s exciting 
as well. I rather enjoy it!” 

The situation gradually grew worse, until 
finally when the word went round that the Com- 
pany was importing professional strike-break- 
ers, the union men went wild, cast oif all re- 
straint and resorted to anything that would im- 
pede the cars in their schedules short of open 
violence. 

But this was not long delayed. 

In any city there are citizens who like noth- 
ing better than to enlist in some one else’s quar- 
rel, and before many hours had passed, a mob 
197 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


had captured a car, assaulted the crew, and es- 
caped before the police could arrive. 

Many of the strikers deplored this state of 
affairs, realizing the effect it would have on 
public opinion, but the matter was now beyond 
them. Many deeds of violence were done 
which were laid unjustly at the door of the 
strikers, and yet though actually innocent of the 
acts, having paved the way, public opinion 
rightly held them responsible. 

Bob no longer found it enjoyable. Exciting 
it certainly was, but he felt as though he were 
going into battle each time he left the barn, 
and was not above giving a big sigh of relief 
each time his car returned in safety. 

On the sixth day of the strike and but two 
days left before he must return to college, he 
found the streets in a turmoil. Even in the 
usually quiet residential streets he was the re- 
cipient of an occasional jeer, and as he neared 
the poorer quarter of the city he was lucky if 
it were not accompanied by an overripe cabbage 
or a bit of brick. 


198 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


^‘They look threatening this morning, that^s 
snre!’’ he said to himself, as he slowed for a 
corner and turned into the factory district. 

It was the noon hour and the street was black 
with workmen, who threw him scowling glances 
as he passed. 

“Aw, look at the scabs!’’ cried a slatternly 
woman, and she threw a turnip at the car. 

By ill luck it struck and broke a window. The 
crash of the glass seemed to galvanize the crowd 
into action. 

“Scab! Scab!” rose from all sides, and a 
rain of missiles poured upon the car. 

Bob gritted his teeth. “Here’s trouble all 
right!” he muttered as he drove his car on, 
clanging his gong with insistence as the mob 
closed in front of him. 

“Crash! Crash!” went the windows. He 
cast a hurried glance round. The car was emp- 
ty save for the conductor, who, his passengers 
having fled, had taken refuge inside. 

‘ ‘ Stop the car ! ” “ Kill the scabs ! ” “ Cap- 
ture them!” 


199 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


The moh, emboldened by the destruction of 
the windows ran alongside the car, swarmed in 
front of it until Bob was forced to slow or run 
over some of them. The next moment he felt 
the current die under his hand and he knew his 
trolley pole was off and he had come to the end 
of his run. For a square ahead the street was 
a mass of men packed closely from house to 
house. Wherever he looked he saw jeering, 
snarling faces and realized that another mo- 
ment would see him overwhelmed. 

‘‘Get otf your car!’’ yelled a rioter in his 
ear, and made a vicious lunge at him. A stone 
hit him in the side, another drove in the glass 
of the vestibule and he instinctively shielded 
his face from the flying pieces. 

He reached for his controller handle, deter- 
mined to defend himself, but a sudden blow on 
the head made him stagger back sick and giddy 
against the body of the car. 

“It’s all up!” he thought dully, as he dimly 
saw countless figures swarm around him. Sud- 
denly the crowd seemed to melt away. Where 


200 


THE FRONT PLATFORM 


a moment before bis enemies were legion, now 
be saw an empty street. His car was clear, and 
then to bis reeling brain came tbe sound of a 
cbeer and tbe splasb of water. As tbougb in 
a dream be saw a rioter shake bis fist and cry 
out, and suddenly a stream of water caugbt 
tbe man in tbe face and tumbled bim backwards, 
bead over beels. It was so funny Bob wanted 
to laugb; then be felt like weeping. 

‘^Tbe fire department bas cleared tbe street 
witb tbeir bose/’ was bis last thought. Then 
bis bead swam dizzily, and be sank down un- 
conscious* on tbe platform. 

When be awoke be was in a soft white bed. 

You bad a nasty cut in tbe bead,’’ explained 
a trim nurse, ‘‘but you’ll be all right soon.” 

Bob felt very sore, and very tired, and was 
quite content to sleep. A good night’s rest put 
him on bis feet again and but for an ugly scar 
be was as welt as ever. 

He was dressing when McLane came to see 
him. “What the deuce do you mean, kid, by 
getting mixed up in a scrape like this? Haven’t 
201 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


you more sense than to throw away your 
chances in the quarter? What did you do it 
for?’’ The trainer danced round angry to the 
core, but recovered his balance when he found 
the cut was only a scalp wound and a few days 
would see it healed. 

^‘How did you hear about it?” asked Bob, 
when McLane was able to talk quietly. 

‘ ^ Hear about it ? ” grunted the latter. ^ ‘Your 
picture is in every paper as large as life!” 

“Oh, bother!” said Bob. 

The strike was soon arbitrated and Trelaw- 
ney returned to college to find everything quiet. 

“You lucky dog. Bob!” he said enviously 
when he heard all the particulars. “I wouldn’t 
have missed that for the world.” 

Bob looked at his friend. “Not for me 
again, Trel. Even these shiners hardly repay 
me,” and he added thirty odd dollars to his 
bank account. 


202 


CHAPTER XIX 


SPKING POLITICS 

The prospect of a free trip to Paris brought 
out large numbers of men as candidates for the 
track team. Not only did, the veterans show 
a keener interest in the daily practice, but every 
man who thought he had the slightest chance 
to become an athlete was out. 

‘Ht’s a good thing, this new interest,’’ said 
McLane one afternoon to Bob, to whom he was 
giving some advice in running, ‘^but it makes 
my job a hard one. There is lots of promising 
material in that bunch there,” he added, as a 
dozen men passed him on the track, ‘‘and I 
don’t like to discourage any of them, but they 
have come out too late to do much this year. 
Another six months on them and I’ll have some 
point winners from them. You can’t do much 
in three months. Meanwhile look how the track 
203 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

is crowded. It won’t make so much difference 
when we get outside.” 

‘‘What do you want me to do to-day?” asked 
Bob, as he jogged back and forth on the cinders. 

“Take half a mile slowly, and then breeze 
a two-twenty. Don’t over-do it,” replied 
McLane, and watched Bob’s stride approvingly, 
as he started down the stretch. 

“The Kid will do something this year in the 
quarter,” he said under his breath, and keen 
with satisfaction. “He has caught his stride 
at last.” 

“What do you think of him?” asked a voice 
from behind. He turned and found Trelawney 
at his shoulder. 

McLane was not a man to give out much in- 
formation, so he masked his extreme satisfac- 
tion, and murmured a non-commital remark. 

Trelawney laughed. “You old fox, ’ ’ he said. 
“I don’t believe you ever let out your real opin- 
ion, even in your dreams ! ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes, I do,” retorted McLane quickly. 

‘ ‘ For instance, if you waste any more time talk- 
204 


SPRING POLITICS 


ing to me instead of practicing, my opinion is 
that you won’t be placed in the Intercollegi- 
ates!” 

‘‘That’s one on you, Jack,” said Newton, who 
had joined them in time to hear the last re- 
marks, with a chuckle. “Eun away and prac- 
tice.” 

Trelawney acted on the advice and strolled 
over to where the weight men were at work. 

“That’s a likely looking chap — that man 
Winter,” said Newton. 

McLane nodded. “He is the best natural 
hurdler I have ever had in my charge. I ex- 
pect great things from him. Just watch his ac- 
tion.” 

Winter, a tall, long-legged freshman, was 
placing three hurdles in line some few yards 
down the track. Walkiug back to the start he 
crouched, sprang and took the sticks neatly ; not 
in the much contorted form of the average hur- 
dler, but with a clean easy spring, left foot 
straight before him, in a manner that was a 
revelation to Newton. 


205 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

is good!’’ exclaimed the miler enthusi- 
astically. ^‘Have you timed him yet!” 

McLane smiled quietly, hut forbore to an- 
swer directly. hope to see him make good 
time,” he replied, and Newton had to be con- 
tent with that. 

Life was crowded during the next weeks. 
The college work took many hours of the day, 
more than usual in fact, for Bob and the other 
team candidates were intent upon keeping well 
above the necessary standard that no mishap 
might bar them from the coveted trip. Train- 
ing took up what spare hours were left, and Bob 
was glad that the mild weather closed down 
some of the furnaces. With all this work, how- 
ever, time was found to discuss the gossip and 
close interests of their world. 

‘‘Has anyone given thought to the Cowl elec- 
tions ! ’ ’ asked Trelawney, as he sat by the open 
window looking out on the gardens where the 
first evidence that spring was at hand could be 
seen in the faintly tinted buds. 

Bob looked up. “No,” he said smiling. 
206 


SPRING POLITICS 


‘‘IVe had my lesson. IVe learned not to 
think of such things, or at least not to let my 
thoughts pass my lips.’’ 

The Cowl was the Senior Class Secret Soci- 
ety at Warrington, and the goal of the ambi- 
tion of every freshman. An election repre- 
sented the highest gift from the student body, 
in that only men of unimpeachable character, 
high purpose and ability could hope to be in- 
cluded in its ranks. There were other societies, 
of course, societies which had arisen when the 
increasing size of the University made it no 
longer possible that the twenty men chosen to 
the Cowl could adequately represent all those 
who could be held eligible. But the supremacy 
of the Cowl by reason of its age and unexcelled 
membership, having been for generations com- 
posed of the pick of every class, was not seri- 
ously threatened by any rival, and its house, 
standing like a tomb of some grim warrior, held 
the reverent gaze of every undergraduate who 
passed its imposing bulk. 

Bob’s expressed determination to keep his 

207 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


moutli closed on the subject was due to the 
treachery of his classmate Warwick, in Sopho- 
more year, who by repeating a private conver- 
sation had put Bob in a false light before the 
college and caused him to fail of an election to 
the Jacobins. Subsequently the truth had come 
out and Bob was elected and his reputation 
cleared. But it had made him cautious. 

‘‘I approve of your reticence, Bob,’^ said 
Livingston, ^‘but I will take it upon myself to 
speak. Some of us will be chosen, that is cer- 
tain. Who? No man knows. When? In the 
month of May. Where and how? In its hun- 
dred and fifty years of existence no outsider 
has ever been able to answer that question. All 
the world knows is that some bright morning 
twenty smiling young men appear with the 
coveted pins on their respective waistcoats. 
Where they got them, what they went through 
to receive them, you might as well ask of the 
wind as of me. There are the facts. So we 
might as well forget all about it until we awake 
208 


SPRING POLITICS 


some day with the talisman over our hearts or 
shining on somebody else’s waistcoat.’’ 

guess that is pretty good advice,” said 
Trelawney. ‘^The Brotherhood of the Cowl 
seems able to keep its own counsel.” 

‘^How about the class presidency for next 
year?” asked Bob. ‘‘That is something I am’ 
willing to talk about.” 

“Haven’t thought about it at all,” retorted 
Trelawney, frankly. 

“Well, I have. And I have a scheme afoot 
which I would dearly love to see go through.” 

“What is that?” asked Trelawney lazily. 
“You sound like my old friend Warwick with 
your schemes,” 

“Just this I I want Liv for our Senior class 
President ! ’ ’ 

“What?” protested Livingston, with a long 
drawn exclamation of surprise. “Why, I 
wouldn’t have a ghost of a show, and besides I 
refuse to be drawn from my seclusion to the 
glare of public life!” 


209 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Yon would have a very good show if yon 
can be persuaded to run. I expect to have more 
trouble with you than with the class. ’ ’ 

“I don’t know about ‘more’ but I’ll give you 
enough,” chuckled Livingston. 

“I daresay,” said Bob, coolly. “But,” he 
continued, warming to the idea, “you are just 
the man we need. The Senior President should 
be a man of address, presence and of balance. 
All of which attributes Liv possesses, doesn’t 
he, Trel? I think further that we should be 
represented by a student instead of the pro- 
verbial athlete, and there are a big lot of men 
who agree with me.” 

“You haven’t broached this idea already, 
have you?” asked Livingston, in dismay. 

“Indeed I have. For the very reason that I 
wanted to be able to assure you that you have 
an excellent chance for the election. Will you 
run?” 

“I don’t want to,” said Livingston, briefly. 

“That’s not the point,” commanded Bob, 
sternly. “If your friends decide that you are 


210 


SPRING POLITICS 


the man for the .place and practically assure 
yon of election, will you runT’ 

‘‘Well,’’ said Livingston, hesitatingly, “if 
all my friends want me and think I can make at 
least a respectable showing, I suppose I will.” 

‘ ‘ Good hoy ! ’ ’ exclaimed Bob, exultingly. ‘ ‘ I 
have already seen Newton and Tracy and War- 
wick. They want it. Trel is plainly for it, 
aren’t you, Trel?” 

“Sure!” 

“So you see, Liv, your friends do want you. 
The other part of the proviso I can meet by tell- 
ing you that eighty-five men have given me 
their word to vote for you. That is a respect- 
able showing, isn’t it?” 

“You trapped me. Bob!” exclaimed Living- 
ston. “That’s not playing fair. If I had 
known you already had those conditions ful- 
filled I would have given you others!” 

Bob laughed. “Doubtless you would. Well 
you are pledged now, and your election is al- 
most certain. ’ ’ 

“How did you get Warwick to forego his own 
211 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


plans for yours asked Livingston, curiously. 
‘‘I thought you and he were hardly on more 
than speaking terms. 

really think Warwick has been sorry for 
what he did and wants to get back into the 
crowd again. He has been strangely shy, in 
making advances, so I thought I would kill two 
birds with one stone — ask him to do me a favor 
by supporting you, and help your election at 
the same time. He seemed only too glad to 
help.’’ 

“That was a good thought of yours, Bob,” 
said Livingston. “Nothing restores a man’s 
self-respect like being admitted to the confi- 
dence of the man he has wronged.” 

“That’s true,” assented Trelawney, rising 
from his seat by the window. “I rather think 
Bob got both birds. Mr. President, I salute 
you!” 


212 


CHAPTER XX 


‘‘may the best MAH WIH” 

If the coming championships and the trip 
abroad were the chief topics of thought and 
conversation from the sporting side of college 
life ; the Presidency of the Senior class and the 
Cowl elections were as important from the per- 
sonal one. 

Bob did his work well. In his campaign for 
Livingston he carried the advantage of being 
known for his honesty and freedom from any 
taint of self-seeking. 

The men whom he approached felt that if 
Bow Walters was backing Livingston it was not 
alone for friendship, or because Bob had any 
private wires to pull, but because his judgment 
told him that Livingston was the man for the 
place. As one of the class put it, ‘‘Bob is 
straight, and he has good sense. He has picked 
213 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


a man whom I know but slightly, but like, so if 
any other candidate wants my vote he will have 
to hustle round for some mighty good argu- 
ments to change my views ! ’ ’ 

Livingston held himself aloof from all elec- 
tioneering. 

‘‘If the class wants me. I’ll serve gladly and 
proudly, but I have no intention of helping any- 
body make up his mind. The Presidency of the 
Senior class is too big a prize to be won by po- 
litical methods. It is in the gift of the class; 
it is not a thing to be fought for.” 

When this view became known it naturally 
did not hurt Livingston’s chances, and Bob 
found his task even easier than he had antici- 
pated. 

During the year Warwick had recovered 
much of the influence among his fellows which 
he had lost during his Sophomore year ; it takes 
a serious defeat to overthrow for all time the 
born politician, and what influence he com- 
manded brought many otherwise doubtful votes 
to Livingston. 


214 


^^MAY THE BEST MAN PFIN^' 

Two weeks before the election the issue was 
still in doubt ; a week before it was believed that 
Livingston had an even chance to win, but 
Burnham, the rival candidate, had also power- 
ful backing and both sides waited for the class 
meeting with intense interest. 

It would have proved an interesting study to 
compare the faces which fronted President 
Newton with those which composed the same 
assembly two years before. The immaturity of 
thought and experience which characterized 
that former meeting had given place to the 
force of knowledge, and though still young, 
time had lightly etched the lines of power and 
resolve on many of the class. They took their 
places quickly and silently and Newton had no 
difficulty in presenting the matter on hand. 

‘^Our purpose is to elect a President for our 
Senior year. It is needless for me to impress 
upon you the vital importance of choosing the 
right man for this, the most important office in 
the gift of the class. 

Senior President has many duties, and 
215 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


the manner of their discharge will be reflected 
directly upon the class. 

‘^So, fellows, I appeal to you to abolish poli- 
tics in the election in so far as is possible. 
Let us look around for the man who is best 
fitted for the work. Nominations are in or- 
der.’’ 

All eyes turned towards Bob Walters as 
Newton sat down. It was evident that the class 
expected from him more than the usual words 
of nomination. 

our President has said,” began Bob 
slowly, hunting for his words, ‘ ‘ the leader of a 
Senior class should theoretically be the man 
possessing the attributes of organization, lead- 
ership, and business ability in the highest de- 
gree in the class, besides being a man of pres- 
ence and tact. That is the theory. The usual 
practice has been to ignore these demands and 
elect a man according to his political standing 
in the class. One who can be depended on to 
favor his party with the fat gifts in his control. 
I ask the class to abandon that policy — to run 
216 


''MAY THE BEST MAN WIN^^ 


this election on the simple straightforward 
grounds which I have stated. In short, I ask 
the class to consider seriously and without bias 
the claims of Arthur Livingston for the Presi- 
dency of the class!’’ 

As Boh resumed his seat, the class responded 
to his effort with a volley of cheers, and Living- 
ston leaned across from his chair to give his 
friend a silent grip of the hand. 

“Mr. President!” 

“Mr. Burnham.” 

The class turned to the new speaker with a 
gasp of surprise. For the admittedly rival 
candidate to intrude actively upon the proceed- 
ings was something quite beyond belief or 
understanding and all waited in amazed silence 
to learn the object of this breach of etiquette. 

Burnham seemed to appreciate that his ap- 
peal to the chair was causing comment, for he 
appeared ill at ease and stumbled over his open- 
ing sentences. 

“Mr. President,” he began. “I have 
listened with much attention and interest to the 
217 


'A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


ideas of the last speaker. They were not new 
to me, for I have heard him express them be- 
fore this on several occasions, in fact as lately 
as a week ago. 

‘‘It was not till then that I became at all im- 
pressed with his views, but a few days back I 
decided to canvass the class and discover its at- 
titude on the subject. I found Mr. Walters to 
be correct. I found that though such views 
might well be defeated by the strength of po- 
litical combination, they were believed in, theo- 
retically by a large majority of the class. 

“I came here to-day with a purpose half- 
formed. That purpose has been crystallized 
by the speaker’s words. Mr. President, I 
move we adopt his theory for our practice and 
that the nominations be closed!” 

One of Bob’s friends seconded the motion, 
and the room was immediately in an uproar. 
Burnham’s backers could be seen arguing with 
him with forceful gestures. Their angry faces 
indicated the surprise which they felt at this 
flank attack from within their own camp. 
218 


'^MAY THE BEST MAN PFIN'^ 


Jenkins, who had led the campaign, was the 
only one who seemed to keep his head, and after 
one furious protest thrown at Burnham’s un- 
happy head, he rose to his feet. 

‘‘Mr. President!” 

“Mr. Jenkins!” 

“I wish to nominate Mr. Burnham for this 
high office, notwithstanding his recent speech!” 

Newton surveyed him coolly. “You are out 
of order, Mr. Jenkins. There is a motion be- 
fore the house.” 

Jenkins hesitated, but still kept his feet. 

Cries of “order! order!” came from differ- 
ent parts of the room. 

“Debate is still open upon that motion, is it 
not?” he asked at length. 

Newton nodded. 

“Then I protest against the adoption of any 
such motion. It may be that Mr. Burnham be- 
lieves these beautiful, theoretical, fine-spun 
ideas but he has no right to impose them on 
others. I claim my right as a member of this 
class to nominate whom I choose!” He sat 
219 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


down defiantly, amidst mingled cheers and 
hisses; the latter predominating. 

‘^Question! Question!’’ The class was be- 
coming restless. 

‘‘One moment, please! Mr. President.” 

This was to be a day of surprises, for now 
Livingston took the fioor. 

“I do not know how the class intends to vote 
on this motion,” he began. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes you do ! ” interrogated a voice cheer- 
fully. 

“But, notwithstanding,” he continued, “my 
deep appreciation of Mr. Burnham’s attitude 
and what his remarks implied, I feel constrained 
to ask the class to vote against his motion. 
There seems to be some friction in the class al- 
ready, and it would only be increased by the 
passage of this motion. Let us leave the nomi- 
nations open, and may the best man win ! ’ ’ 

Thunderous applause greeted this expression 
of fair play. 

Burnham at once arose. 

“I think myself that I was perhaps ill-advised 


220 


^^MAY THE BEST MAN WIN^^ 


in making the motion. I will, with the chair’s 
permission, withdraw it. I wish to tell the 
class, however, in justice to myself, that I had 
advised Mr. Jenkins and other members of 
the class of my probable attitude some days 
ago!” 

‘‘I nominate Mr. Stair!” This was Jenkins 
again, and the nomination was received in si- 
lence. 

‘‘Are there any further nominations?” asked 
the President after a moment’s silence. 

There was no response. 

“I declare the nominations closed!” said 
Newton,” and appoint this day week at the same 
hour for the balloting.” 

As the meeting closed there was a storm of 
conversation. Every man had something to say 
on the unusual events which had just taken 
place, and said it. 

Bob Walters’ remark was conclusive, and 
typical of the general feeling. 

He threw his arm round Livingston’s shoul- 
ders and hugged him. 





221 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘That makes your election sure!” he said, 
with delight. 

During that week Jenkins fought hard, but to 
little avail. Sentiment had come out strongly 
in favor of Livingston and the ideals for which 
he stood. Electioneering met with no response. 

“Show me a better man for the place than 
Livingston, and I’ll vote for him!” became the 
general slogan, and Jenkins gave up in despair. 

The inhabitants of the “Beehive,” as Bob’s 
rooms had come to be called, because the three 
friends were always doing something, saw little 
of each other during that week for one reason or 
another, but Bob and Trelawney showed strong- 
ly to the front, when, after the balloting had re- 
sulted in fifteen votes for Stair and two hundred 
and thirty-three for Livingston, Stair moved 
that the election be made unanimous. 

The motion was passed amidst wildest enthu- 
siasm, and then the Beehivers, together with 
Newton, proceeded to the dormitories to cele- 
brate the occasion. 

They were in high spirits and a warfare of 


222 


^'MAY THE BEST MAN WIN'' 


cushions was the legitimate outlet. In a mo- 
mentary lull, Livingston dropped his cushion 
and with ‘^Jove! I am hot,’^ made a movement 
to unbutton his coat. Suddenly he stopped and 
looked at the others. Their coats were also 
tight buttoned. 

The four looked at each other for a moment 
hesitatingly. 

Then four hands stole to four throats, four 
coats were flung wide, and over four hearts, 
shorn of all concealment, glittered the emblem 
of recognized worth : A golden Cowl ! 

^^Why— ! 

‘‘How — ! 

“I was afraid you hadnT — " 

“So was I.” 

“So I kept it buttoned!’’ 

A hail of questions and exclamations rose 
from each, but none listened for an answer. 
Four pairs of hands had flown out with one ac- 
cord and linked the friends anew. 


223 


CHAPTER XXI 


ABOVE THE DAM 

‘ ^ That Paris trip will be the greatest ever ! ’ ’ 
said Trelawney enthusiastically though slang- 
ily, as he helped himself to the coffee. ‘‘The 
subscription list is getting fatter every day, I 
hear, and they have enough now to take ten men. 
They have engaged passage for fifteen on the 
Meteor, sailing from New York on June 12th. 
We land at Southampton, go straight up to 
London and take part in the English champion- 
ships. Then to Paris for the Olympic games. 
How is that for a programme ! ’ ^ 

“Hard to beat,” assented Bob, “and I have 
some news too. Essex and Kingston are both 
going to send teams ! ’ ^ 

“Not really! Well, that is fine!” said Tre- 
lawney. “I am glad America is to be so well 

224 


ABOVE THE DAM 

represented. How are you in the quarter 
now?^’ 

‘ ^ Improving, ’ ’ said Bob laconically, as he left 
the training table. ‘ ^ I may qualify. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, get out,^’ said Trelawney as he followed 
his friend down the steps. “Don’t be so mod- 
est! McLane is very discreet, but he told me 
in confidence that you are improving. ’ ’ 

“ D1 1 he ? ” said Bob, eagerly. ‘ ‘ I knew I was 
running better, but Mac will never tell me my 
time. ’ ’ 

“He wouldn’t tell me, either, but he led me 
to believe that you will spring a surprise at the 
meet next week, if that is any comfort to you.” 

The week before an Intercollegiate meet is 
always trying enough to the nerves of all con- 
cerned, but the double result that hinged on it 
this year made the training quarters a center 
of electrical disturbance. 

The week passed, however, and the nervous- 
ness was not justified by results. Warrington 
made more points than her two nearest rivals 
225 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

combined. It was a White and Black day, and 
McLane grinned from ear to ear. He had done 
what every trainer hopes for; brought not one 
but three dark horses under the wire first. 
Trelawney’s win of the hammer throwing was 
expected, but when he tossed the shot out forty- 
five feet and some inches there was consterna- 
tion in the rival camps. Newton, of course, 
took the mile, and when McLane asked him to 
repeat in the two mile, he trotted home, ‘Hresh 
as you please,” as McLane said, in very fair 
time. Blow number two, or, to be accurate, 
number three, for Bob Walters justified his 
trainer’s secrecy by breaking the tape in forty- 
nine and two-fifths seconds with his Essex rival 
a bad second. Carey took the pole-vault for the 
second year. And to crown the day, Winter, 
the freshman, possessed of a remarkable pair 
of legs, skipped over hurdles in both of those 
events in a fashion entirely novel and eminently 
successful. He broke the Intercollegiate record 
in both events. 

Altogether it was a day of days, and the team 
226 


ABOVE THE DAM 


looked forward to the twelfth of June with se- 
rene confidence in their powers. 

What a scramble there was during the last 
weeks ! 

‘‘How a man can be expected to study when 
he thinks that he is going to Europe, ’ ’ said Bob 
indignantly one day to no one in particular, “I 
fail to understand. I have read this page over 
three times and I am no further advanced than 
if I had never seen it.’^ 

“ThaHs new,” said Trelawney. “I never 
heard you complain of lack of concentration be- 
fore. Now if I complained — ” 

“You have no cause,” interrupted Bob iron- 
ically. “You wouldn^t know what concentra- 
tion was if yon met it. ’ ’ 

-^‘Here! that’s not fair,” said Trelawney in- 
dignantly. “No knocking! I’m a model stu- 
dent now and you know it!” 

“All right. Jack,” said Bob laughing. 
“Don’t let your feelings get hurt. I take it all 
back. But the fact remains that I can’t study 
and I won ’t ! Let ’s take a walk. ’ ’ 

227 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘You^re on!’’ 

Two books bit the table, and the door 
slammed. 

They walked briskly through the streets of 
the town until they reached the river and then 
struck along its banks. In a few minutes they 
came in sight of the boathouses belonging to the 
College, and here Bob was seized with an idea. 

‘^How about taking my canoe out for a pad- 
dle?” he said. ‘‘It’s a bit windy, but if we 
keep under the lea of the bank I don’t believe 
we will have any trouble.” 

“I’m with you. Bob,” said Trelawney enthu- 
siastically. “You can give me that lesson in 
paddling that you’ve been talking about.” 

The canoe, an eighteen-foot canvas creation, 
was hunted out of its winter quarters and car- 
ried to the float. “She may leak a bit at first, 
Trel,” said the owner, as they set her in the 
water, “but not enough to do much harm. Get 
in the bow there while I hold her steady.” 

“Not on your life!” replied Trelawney. “I 
take the stern this time, and you can instruct 
228 


ABOVE THE DAM 


me as we go along.” He moved down to the 
stern of the canoe as he spoke and motioned 
Walters towards the bow. 

Bob hesitated. don^t altogether like that 
idea,” he said, as he looked at the water, 
whipped into spray by the wind, which was 
blowing down the river in strong gusts. am 
afraid you’ll upset us !” 

‘ ‘ Nonsense ! ’ ’ retorted Trelawney. ‘ ‘ I won ’t 
have any trouble. I’ll keep under the lea of the 
bank, though, where it’s smooth, if that will 
content you.” He pointed as he spoke to a 
stretch of quiet water by the nearer shore, pro- 
tected by a slight curve in the river. 

‘‘All right!” Bob spoke dubiously, but 
yielded the point and moved to the bow. 

“Hold on a minute, Trel,” he exclaimed, as 
Trelawney made a move to get in the canoe. 
“Don’t you know that the bowman always gets 
in first. Keep her steady for me.” Bob ad- 
justed the cushion under his knees and settled 
in his place. 

“You had better kneel, too, Trel,” he called 
229 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


over his shoulder, when he had taken another 
look at the river. ‘^We will be a bit top-heavy 
in this sea if you take the seat. ’ ’ 

‘‘All right, Bob! Steady in the bow!” Tre- 
lawney stepped gingerly into his place, but his 
lack of experience showed itself in the way the 
canoe wobbled. 

A few strokes took them clear of the float and 
into the comparative shelter of the high bank, 
but even there an occasional gust caught the 
bow of the canoe and swung it off its course, 
Trelawney vainly endeavoring to keep it 
straight. 

“Keep your eyes open for those squalls, 
Trel,” cautioned Bob from the bow. “When 
you see one coming, turn the canoe a bit in its 
direction and then let the wind straighten you 
out again. You will find it much easier — and 
safer,” he concluded with a chuckle, for Tre- 
lawney ’s handling of the nervous craft was not 
reassuring. 

They crept along the shore in an erratic man- 
ner, though Trelawney profited by the advice 
230 


ABOVE THE DAM 


that Bob offered from time to time, and gradu- 
ally acquired more confidence. The wind was 
strong, however, and showed no sign of falling, 
so that when they had covered half a mile or 
so Trelawney suggested a return. 

‘^Are you getting tired asked Bob quizzic- 
ally, though, to tell the truth, his muscles, un- 
accustomed to the work, had also begun to rebel, 
especially as, in order to help his companion, 
he had done more than the bowman is generally 
called upon to do. 

‘^You needn’t jeer. Bob!” retorted Trelaw- 
ney between breaths. ‘‘Here I am doing all 
the work, and you sit there and criticize. ’ ’ 

“Well, if I criticized your paddling ade- 
quately, it would be the hardest work I ever did. 
But you had better pay attention to business if 
you expect to turn here. Wait till you get a 
smooth stretch!” 

They paddled along for a few moments and 
then with a “Now’s your time,” from Bob, Tre- 
lawney dug in his blade and the turn was made. 

“Not a drop of water shipped,” exulted the 
231 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

latter. ‘^Even you couldn’t have done better 
than that, Bob! I really think I am improv- 
ing.” 

‘‘You’ll do in time,” assented Bob, as they 
slipped quickly through the water, driven as 
much by the following wind as by their own 
exertions. 

“This is fine, isn’t it,” commented Trelaw- 
ney enthusiastically, relaxing his muscles and 
using his paddle merely to keep the canoe on 
its course. “It’s a pity you can’t have the 
wind both coming and going — ^what a cinch it 
would be ! ” ' 

“You are greedy, Trel, ’ ’ laughed Bob. ‘ ‘ But 
if you feel that way about it, what you need is 
a motorboat or an airship ! ” 

The river bank was slipping by at a rapid 
rate and the distance that had taken so much 
work and time to cover upstream seemed sur- 
prisingly short to both occupants of the canoe. 

“You had better begin to head in shore,” 
warned Bob. “We will be opposite the boat- 
house in another hundred yards.” 

232 


ABOVE THE DAM 


‘ ‘ Oh, let 's go on a bit. This is so luxurious, ’ ’ 
answered Trelawney, keeping on his course. 
They were now well out in the middle of the 
river, for Trelawney had failed to follow the 
curve of the bank, round which they had as- 
cended. The canoe was pitching and twisting 
on the choppy waves, but riding them easily, 
and Trelawney, exulting in the spray which flew 
over him from time to time, let the canoe forge 
on. Walters was entirely content and, taking 
in his paddle, idly watched the white-capped 
wavelets that hissed under the bow. Suddenly 
he looked up and called back to Trelawney: 

^‘It’s time we turned now,’’ he said quickly 
and decidedly. ‘‘We are getting too close to 
the dam!” 

Trelawney glanced ahead. A hundred and 
fifty yards below them he saw the red buoys 
which, chained together, stretched across the 
river, and served as warning of the proximity 
of danger. Beyond rose a cloud of spray and 
mist as an added reminder that it would not be 
wise to venture too near the brink. 


233 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Eight you are ! I’ll wait a moment, though, 
till this gust passes.” 

Watching his opportunity Trelawney brought 
the canoe round into the wind, but riding high 
in the water, as she did, it was no easy task to 
keep her on her course^ the gusts striking broad- 
side on and making her dance like a frisky 
colt. 

‘‘Put your beef in it!” yelled Bob, as the 
canoe slowly moved ahead on its new course. 
The wind seemed to increase every moment. 

Trelawney, with set teeth, was already throw- 
ing all his strength into each stroke and needed 
no reminder. 

An unusually large wave rolled under the 
canoe, lifting her high on its crest. Trelawney 
made a vicious stroke with his paddle, forgot 
to allow for the wave, missed the water com- 
pletely ; lost his balance, and as the canoe rolled, 
fell heavily against the thwart. “Look out!” 
yelled Bob, but it was too late. 

When Bob got his head above water, he threw 
a hurried glance around for his friend and was 

234 


ABOVE THE DAM 

relieved to see him clinging to the bow of the 
canoe. 

Trelawney grinned as he caught his friend ^s 
glance. 

^‘That was a silly trick he said, as he 
shook the water from his eyes. ‘‘I don^t know 
yet how it happened.’’ 

‘‘Well, don’t hang on to that canoe any 
longer. We are getting closer to the dam than 
I like,” and Walters struck out for the shore. 

“Jove!” the exclamation came through 
clenched teeth, and with white lips Bob swam 
desperately back towards the canoe. 

Trelawney had hung on to the dancing craft 
until Bob’s warning reached him and he then 
let go. A wave lifted the canoe and drove it 
down heavily upon the swimmer’s head. Tre- 
lawney ’s eyes closed and he floated helplessly 
in the waters. 

Bob had seen the accident, and reached his 
friend in a few seconds, but already he was 
sinking beneath the waves. 

Bob clutched at Trelawney ’s collar desper- 

235 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


ately, turned on his back, and once more made 
for the shore. 

A few strokes showed that safety in that di- 
rection was impossible. Not a foot of headway 
could he gain against the current, burdened as 
he was with his half-unconscious friend. 

He gave a cool glance round, and calculated 
his chances. Fifty yards below him was the 
line of buoys towards which he was rapidly 
drifting. If he could manage to direct his 
course so as to intercept one of these he felt 
he might hold on long enough for rescue to 
come from the shore. If he failed the dam 
waited for them thirty yards beyond, and the 
water was rushing over it in a foamy mass. 
Below the dam were the rocks. 

Bob glanced at his friend. He was recover- 
ing from the blow and began to struggle in an 
aimless manner as the waves splashed over his 
face. 

‘ ^ Keep still, J ack ! ’ ’ yelled Bob, as he nearly 
lost his hold of Trelawney’s arm. ‘‘Kick out 
236 



TN ANOTHER MOMENT THEY WERE 
^ AGAINST IT 











ABOVE THE DAM 


with your legs if you can, but don’t struggle!” 

Trelawney seemed to grasp vaguely the dan- 
ger of the situation and relaxed his efforts. 
The crucial moment was approaching. With all 
his strength, Bob endeavored to force his way 
towards the buoy, and at last found himself di- 
rectly above the dancing iron can. In another 
moment they were against it, and Bob tried to 
find some projection to hold to. But in vain. 
The surface, worn smooth by the friction of 
the water, presented no grip, and Bob almost 
gave up hope. Any moment they might slide 
by the buoy and then — Bob raised himself in 
the water and looked wildly towards the shore. 
His heart gave a jump of relief, for on the boat- 
house float were hurrying figures and a boat 
was being pushed rapidly into the water. 

‘Ht will take five minutes to reach us,” he 
thought, ‘ ‘ and we can never stay here that long. 
There is just one chance left ! ’ ’ 

He seized Trelawney ’s hands in a locked grip 
and with a ‘ ‘hang on tight, J ack ! ’ ’ allowed their 

237 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


bodies to float past the buoy — one on each side, 
their locked hands coming up sharply against 
the buoy and holding them fast. 

The strain was terrific. The water tore at 
their bodies, twisting them until Bob thought 
his wrists would crack. Every other moment 
they were buried under the waves as the buoy 
rocked and dipped, and Bob, who could not see 
his friend, wondered whether he was still con- 
scious. 

The minutes dragged on. Bob was too low 
in the water to be able to see the boat and 
gritted his teeth in patient waiting. When he 
thought he could hold on no longer, he looked 
up and gave a sigh of relief. The boat was 
within a few yards. In another moment he was 
hauled over the gunwale, his hands still locked 
in Trelawney^s. He was too weak to release 
them. 

Trelawney was the first to recover. The 
blow on the head, though severe, was not seri- 
ous, and though he had swallowed much water, 
238 


ABOVE THE DAM 


he was able to step out of the boat unassisted 
when it reached the float. Bob, on the other 
hand, was thoroughly exhausted by his exer- 
tions. The long fight for life had been a severe 
drain upon his vitality, and it was necessary 
to lift him out of the boat, and help him to the 
boathouse, where, made comfortable on some 
cushions, he rested for some time. At last he 
endeavored to get up. 

‘^Lie still. Bob,’’ said Trelawney, who was 
sitting beside him. ‘‘There is no hurry. I 
have sent for a cab, and it hasn’t arrived yet.” 

“Nonsense,” said Bob^ struggling to a sit- 
ting position. “I am all right. The walk will 
do me good.” 

“No, you are not all right. And anyway I 
have sent for it, and we might as well wait for 
it.” 

“All right,” assented Bob, who found that 
his legs were weaker than he had expected. 
“I’ll go home in style if you insist.” 

Newton met them at the Dormitory entrance. 

239 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

‘‘Well, where have you two been?’’ he hailed 
them. “I’ve been waiting hours for you to get 
back.” 

Trelawney laid his hand affectionately on 
Bob’s shoulder. “I guess you pretty nearly 
owe it to Bob Walters that I got back at all,” 
he said. And then he briefly told the story. 
When they had answered the last of Newton’s 
eager questions he said : 

“Well, I’m mighty glad it was no worse. 
McLane would have lost two of his Paris 
team.” 

“What!” shouted Bob and Trelawney in a 
breath. 

“Yes,” Newton grinned at them. “It’s true. 
The list of the team is posted, and all three of 
us are in it!” 


240 


CHAPTER XXn 


BOB TAKES A NEW CONTRACT 

DO wish you would quiet down a bit, Bob,’’ 
complained Livingston, when be beard of the 
accident, ‘‘and stop doing these thrilling things. 
I’ll be afraid to go around Paris with you!” 

Bob sat up. 

“Are you really coming?” be asked excitedly. 

Livingston smiled. “Yes, really. I have se- 
cured the position of second assistant manager. 
I pay my own way, but in return for being al- 
lowed to travel with you pampered darlings I 
am to lend your manager the benefit of my 
French education when we reach the land of 
the lily. He doesn’t speak a word of the lan- 
guage himself, so I may be useful.” 

“That is simply bully, Liv! Though you 
must not be too much of a high-roller when you 


241 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


go ’round with me. My pennies won’t be any 
too plentiful.” 

‘ ‘Neither are mine, for that matter. But how 
are your finances?” 

“Pretty good, on the whole. I think I will be 
able to start with a clear two hundred. Since 
the heavy expenses will be paid, I hope to have 
enough left to spend two weeks over there after 
the team disbands, — one week, any way. ’ ’ 

“H’m!” said Livingston thoughtfully. 
“Why don’t you try for the job of special cor- 
respondent to one of the big dailies. They 
would be glad to take a column a week, and 
would pay well. You could send at least three 
letters while we are abroad, and that would pay 
for the extra week in Paris.” 

Bob’s face lit up at the prospect, for he had 
rather bemoaned the circumstances which 
would render him somewhat of a drag on the 
amusements of his room-mates. 

“Do you think I could get it at this late 
date?” he asked anxiously. 

“Why, yes, I am sure you could. The 
242 


A NEW CONTRACT 


‘Times’ would be only too glad to get you for 
correspondent. Intercollegiate champion and 
Captain of the ’Varsity! You are too modest, 
Bob ! You had better go down to see about it 
in the morning.” 

Though Livingston spoke with such assur- 
ance in Bob’s presence, he was nevertheless at 
the desk of the managing editor of the “Times” 
early the next day. 

“You have simply got to do it!” he was say- 
ing to the bewildered editor. “It can’t make 
any difference to you or the paper whether Bob 
writes these articles or I do ! ” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not, ’ ’ said the editor dryly. ‘ ‘ But 
I had thought I had chosen you from among the 
other applicants because you showed some 
knowledge of putting the English language on 
paper. But perhaps I was mistaken ! ’ ’ 

Livingston smiled impatiently. “You know 
as well as I do, Jim, or you ought to, that the 
sporting public doesn’t care for literature ; what 
it wants are the facts and a name. Granted 
that I can write the better article, nevertheless, 
243 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Bob Walters’s name will count double — and 
anyway, I’ll touch them up if necessary. You 
won’t be the loser — Bob really needs the 
money ! ’ ’ 

‘‘But I thought you did too!” retorted Jim. 
“Well,” he continued, “I wouldn’t be dictated 
to by anyone but you, Liv. It’s lucky you are 
my kid cousin, or I’d throw you out. But since 
you make a point of it I’ll do it. Send your 
protege along.” 

Livingston looked relieved. “That’s awfully 
good of you, Jim; I appreciate it more than I 
can tell you,” he said, rising to leave. “Be 
sure, though, to keep Bob in the dark, won’t 
youT’ 

“Yes, indeed,” replied the editor, and as Liv- 
ingston closed the door, added to himself, 
“There are not many men who, to help a friend, 
would lose the chance to appear in print. Liv 
is certainly white ! ’ ’ 

Bob got the job. He returned to Livingston 
with beaming face, and reported joyfully : 

244 


A NEW CONTRACT 


‘‘Twenty dollars a column, with the privilege 
of writing a column and a half in each of four 
letters. It^s a cinch! I can’t thank you 
enough for suggesting it, Liv.” 

Livingston smiled to himself at the “suggest- 
ing,” but whatever sacrifice he had made was 
more than balanced by Bob’s delight in the 
prospect of being able to keep his end up with 
his friends. 

The last days of the college year went 
quickly. The dreaded examination period 
came and passed, leaving but pleasant results 
in its train. 

This was to have been expected. The stu- 
dent who reaches the end of his junior year is 
not apt to be dropped for failure in his work. 
The most idle must after three years have ac- 
quired a certain habit of study which in itself 
is sufficient to allow him to scrape through suc- 
cessfully, even though not brilliantly, and he 
who has really developed his faculty of con- 
centration finds delight rather than dread in 

245 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

the semi-yearly tests. Thus Livingston passed 
among the highest, Bob Walters well up, and 
Trelawney and Tracy with just the necessary 
number of ‘‘P’s.’’ 

“Well,” said Trelawney, the evening after 
the results had been posted, “now, that I have 
come this far, it begins to look as though little 
Trel had a chance to go the rest of the way. 
That diploma does not look impossible now, 
though a year ago I had slim hopes of it. I 
guess I owe you a vote of thanks, Bob, for 
showing me the error of my ways ! ’ ’ 

“You were rather an odds on chance, Trel,” 
said Livingston, stopping for a moment in the 
letter he was writing, which was to contain the 
good news of his success. 

“Nonsense,” returned Bob. “I look upon 
Trel as one of my best and easiest successes. 
Once he got the idea in his noddle that study- 
ing wasn’t all work, he took a new lease on 
life.” 

“Well,” said Newton, who with his feet on a 
chair was deep in some light literature after 
246 


if NEW CONTRACT 


the enforced fast caused by the examinations. 
‘‘If there is one thing I am happy about, not 
including of course our all passing, it is that 
the first year of the honor system went through 
without a hitch. It would have been quite a 
facer to all those interested in it if we had had 
to dismiss any men. Or on the other hand if 
there had been any noticed and unreported 
cases of cheating. But as far as I know every- 
thing was serene. 

“The professors, and some of them didnT 
care for the experiment a little bit, seem per- 
fectly contented with the results and told me 
that they thought if there had been hardly 
any cribbing at either the midyears or the 
finals. If that is so, we have scored a success 
which all the watchers under heaven have never 
been able to approach. As president I felt re- 
sponsible for the honor of the class and kept 
a pretty sharp lookout but saw nothing sus- 
picious at any time. What was the experience 
of you fellows r’ 

“I was too busy trying to answer the ques- 

247 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

tions in the most of exams,’’ returned Trelaw- 
ney, ^^to bother my head about anyone else. 
Cribbing could have gone on under my nose 
and I would never have seen it!” 

‘‘How about you, Bob?” 

Bob hesitated imperceptibly before answer- 
ing. He had felt that he could not report his 
experience with Warwick officially, but had 
often been on the point of broaching the sub- 
ject generally, simply to be fortified in his 
own opinion. That veiled glance and sudden 
smile still lingered in the back of his mind. 

“I did see something once,” he acknowledged 
soberly. “I saw a fellow apparently looking 
at his neighbor’s paper. He caught my eye 
and seemed confused, but volunteered the state- 
ment afterwards that he had done it uncon- 
sciously while thinking. So I didn’t report it. ’ ’ 

“Didn’t anyone else see the occurrence?” 
asked Newton. 

“No, not tc my knowledge,” replied Bob, 
and then added, “in fact I am sure of it!” 

“Well, then, you couldn’t report it,” decided 
248 


A NEW CONTRACT 


Newton. “It would have been only your word 
against his, on very little proof, unless of 
course you had more proof. ’ ’ 

“No,’’ said Bob doubtfully. “That’s about 
all the proof I had.” 

The subject was dropped, but Bob muttered 
to himself in self-defense, “Intuition is not 
evidence!” 


CHAPTEB XXIII 

WB^BE off!’’ 

Holding the coveted pasteboards which ele- 
vated him to the senior class, Bob entered into 
the preparations for his departure with zest. 
A flying visit of farewell to his family; three 
days shopping to complete his outfit, and he was 
hack in his rooms making his final arrange- 
ments. 

Livingston, as assistant manager, was busy 
with the details of tickets, transportation and 
what not, and declared many times that if he 
had known what he had taken upon himself he 
would never have assumed the burden. 

thought,” he said with feigned bitter- 
ness to Yocum, the manager, ‘‘that I was to act 
solely as interpreter of French, and not as in- 
terpreter of all your headless actions. I never 
said I was a wizard ! ’ ’ 


250 


^WE’RE OFFr 


Yocum laughed. ‘‘Keep your shirt on, Liv. 
For goodness sake, don’t you go up in the air, 
or we will never arrive anywhere, for we 
haven’t touched the edge of our troubles yet. 
You’ve never traveled with a lot of athletes, so 
you don’t know their vagaries. They are worse 
than an opera troupe. They complain of their 
rooms and their food; they are jealous of dig- 
nity to an extent unimaginable. I understand 
you set up to be a writer? Well, here’s your 
chance to learn a new side of human nature. 
You’ll never have another like it!” 

The troubles smoothed themselves out. The 
baggage was safely shipped. The last athlete 
got safely aboard the train and to the ship, 
where Yocum and his assistants had all they 
could do to place the men in their respective 
state rooms. 

Livingston had seen to it that his room-mates 
and Newton were bunked together, and it was 
a gleeful four that deposited their bags in the 
berths and looked round the confined quarters 
that were to be theirs for a week. 

251 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

^^Not so bad, is it,’’ said Bob from bis perch 
on the edge of an upper berth. ‘‘I tell you 
what, there is nothing like being on good terms 
with the management, is there T’ and he looked 
laughingly at Livingston. 

The latter grunted. ‘‘You ought to feel 
obliged to me. Yocum had you up forward, 
and Trel nearly over the propellers, until I put 
my oar in. ’ ’ 

“Where are you bound now?” asked Bob as 
Livingston turned toward the door. 

“Up on deck, just to take a last look about 
to see if everything is aboard. The amount of 
paraphernalia that appears to be necessary to 
the health of this team would stock a hospital — 
Private drinking water; gallons of it! Lini- 
ment by the quart; bandages by the mile. It 
won’t be Mac’s fault if anything is missing, and 
if anything goes wrong it will be up to Yocum 
and me. So I am going to make assurance 
doubly sure by personally superintending the 
installation of the baggage, now that I have got 
my other charges safely aboard.” 

2£2 


'WE^RE OFFr 


Bob laughed. Don’t take it so hard, Liv! 
I am surprised that a traveller of your ex- 
perience should allow himself to be upset by the 
impedimenta of globe trotting. Keep cool!” 

‘^It’s easy enough to look after one’s own 
things — I would never complain there — ^but 
when it comes to an assortment belonging to a 
troupe like this, I think I am warranted in kick- 
ing — ^Well, I’ll see you later!” 

‘ ‘ Be careful not to go too far from the ship, 
Liv,” Bob called after him in mock alarm. 
‘‘You might miss it and then what would we 
do!” 

Livingston’s only response was a frivolous 
wave of the hand as he disappeared from view. 

He found the deck in the usual state of con- 
fusion attendant upon the departure of a liner 
and made his way with difficulty to the gang- 
way, through the bustling crowd. Waiting till 
the way was temporarily cleared he dashed for 
the plank and by dint of much pushing and 
many “I beg your pardons” finally reached 
the dock. 


253 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


It was eleven o’clock and the steamer was to 
sail at noon. Consequently the wharf was a 
complicated mass of rumbling trucks and ex- 
cited stevedores whose raucous cries mingled 
with the creaking of many chains and the sharp 
puffing of the donkey engine. The customary 
eleventh hour rush was on! 

Freight that should have arrived hours ear- 
lier and before now been safely stowed away in 
the depths of the hold, was even now advancing 
inch by inch in crowded drays. Trunks, whose 
owners had kept them open till the last moment 
to insert the ‘things forgotten,” were receiv- 
ing the consideration they deserved — ^none; 
while the baggage handlers pulled and shook 
them crashing to the floor where the ever-ready 
derrick reached for them, grappled them and 
swung them to dizzy heights before plunging 
them to darkness. 

In the confusion it was difficult to learn much, 
but Livingston made his way to the place where 
he had last seen his particular baggage, and not 
finding it he concluded it was all safely aboard. 
254 


^^rVE'RE OFFr 

Having arrived at this satisfactory and quiet- 
ing belief, he was philosopher enough to abide 
by it and watched with zest of one relieved of 
all responsibility, the careworn, harassed faces 
of travellers who tore from place to place in the 
vain hope of seeing each individual precious 
trunk carried to its resting place. 

^^My, but there is a lot of energy being 
needlessly wasted here,’’ he thought. “These 
people can’t possibly do themselves or their 
trunks any good. They simply delay matters 
by getting in everybody’s way, and will prob- 
ably get run over or have a trunk deposited 
on top of them!” 

As he was thus moralizing with a conscious 
sense of superiority, he became aware of sud- 
den shouts. 

“Look out there! Look out! Quick!” 

The shouts were insistent and excited and 
Livingston looked up in alarm to find every 
face turned his way and many voices warning 
him of danger. 

Unable to see any danger he hesitated which 

255 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


way to move, fearful of placing himself even 
more directly in the way of catastrophe. At 
the moment a hand gripped his arm, he felt 
an insistent pull, and obeying it he jumped 
quickly to his right. 

As he did so a heavy mass grazed his shoul- 
der, a splintering crash sounded at his very 
heels, and he looked down through a cloud of 
eddying dust, to where an enormous trunk, bad- 
ly shattered, gaped at his feet. 

The imminence of his escape turned him dizzy 
for a moment. He gazed spellbound at the so 
nearly fatal agent of destruction and realized 
with humiliation that he had almost suf- 
fered the disaster he had been predicting for 
others. 

Then he turned to thank his preserver, and 
to his amazement, instead of the grown man he 
had expected, he was confronted by a young 
girl, whose face still bore the impress of terror. 

She looked at him with embarrassment, her 
courage not equal to facing the gratitude of 
the young man she had saved, but at sight of 
256 


^WE^RE OFFr 

her evident distress Livingston quickly found 
his tongue. 

‘^How can I thank you enough/’ he stam- 
mered warmly. was standing dreaming 
there and when I heard the cries I didn’t know 
in which direction to move. ’ ’ He looked grave- 
ly at the spot where he had been standing and 
then, with earnestness, have you to thank 
for my life, I think ! ” he said. 

She flushed prettily at his words. 

am awfully glad I was able to warn you,” 
she said. ‘‘But I don’t deserve very much 
credit. I saw that trunk toppling and just 
threw out my hand instinctively when I realized 
you didn’t see it.” The flush had faded from 
her face and left her still pale from the shock, 
but she took Livingston’s proffered hand with 
quiet dignity and moved closer to an elderly 
man whose face bore an expression of mingled 
pride and fear. 

Livingston guessed rightly that this gentle- 
man was the father of his rescuer and renewed 
his thanks in that quarter. 

257 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


The older man, whose arm was now linked 
in his daughter's, listened gravely. ‘‘You are 
lucky, sir,’’ he said. “You would have had a 
nasty accident. I am proud of my little girl, 
for she left a place of safety to give you thaf 
warning, and she did not get clear by very much 
herself.” 

The girl blushed at this praise, but before 
Livingston could digest this news a cry of 
“Heads up!” caused him to step back and an- 
other load of trunks passed between him and 
the others. This was followed by a procession 
of drays, and when he once more got clear of 
the crowd he could find his late companions no- 
where. 

After quite a lengthy but vain search, for he 
felt he owed further thanks, he was forced by 
the sounding of the warning bugle to return 
to the ship. 

“Well,” he comforted himself, “I will have 
ample time to make their acquaintance on the 
voyage over.” But in this he was disap- 
pointed. Search the ship as he might he found 
258 


^WE'RE OFFr 


no trace of father or daughter, and their disap- 
pearance remained a mystery. 

Descending to the cabin he found his friends 
busily unpacking and in their preoccupation the 
traces of his experience passed unnoticed. Sud- 
denly Bob raised his head in an attitude of 
listening. 

A bugle call rang through the ship. 

‘‘What is that?’’ said Trelawney, starting up. 

He was answered by the voice of a steward. 

“All ashore who are go in’ ashore!” 

“Let’s go up on deck,” said Bob, reaching 
for his cap, and with one accord they went out 
into the crowded passage. 

There was confusion everywhere. Tearful 
good-byes were being said in every corner and 
in several languages; people were hurrying 
madly through the maze of passages trying 
to find the main companionway, and stewards 
passed constantly with their tuneful cry, “All 
ashore who are goin’ ashore!” 

“lam glad I am one of the elect,” said New- 
ton. “That call sends a thrill through me.” 

259 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


The friends at last reached the deck and, se- 
curing good places near the rail, watched the 
final preparations for departure. 

The gang plank was crowded with descend- 
ing visitors, and nothing seemed able to hurry 
them. Was it possible to ever get clear. Sud- 
denly as if by magic the disorderly crowd dis- 
appeared. Trim jersey-clad men hauled on the 
ropes, and the gang plank was lowered to the 
pier. 

‘‘Cast off.’’ 

Bob felt a throb which passed through the 
steamer. He noticed the dock slowly slipping 
by and realized the boat was moving. 

“We’re off!” 


260 


CHAPTEE XXIV 


ON THE OTHER SIDE 

‘‘You had better get up, Trel,” said Bob. 
“The second call for breakfast was some time 
ago.’’ 

Trelawney grunted without turning bis bead. 
He was coiled up in bis berth, face to the wall, 
and as Bob stopped in the operation of fasten- 
ing bis collar long enough to glance at the re- 
cumbent figure bis face lighted up with under- 
standing. 

It was the first morning out, and the steamer 
bad run into a bead wind and nasty sea, which 
caused her to rise threateningly towards the 
skies and then drop with a sickening roll into 
the trough of the waves. 

Bob, fortified by a delicious plunge in cold 
salt water, was not bothered by the unseemly 
261 


^ JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


actions of the vessel, and was inclined to view 
Trelawney’s condition humorously. 

‘‘I never expected to see a big brute like you 
brought so low,’^ he said unfeelingly. ‘‘Why, 
the sea is like a mill-pond! Get your courage 
together and come to breakfast.’’ 

This suggestion was greeted by an uneasy 
contortion of the huddled figure. 

“How would you like some nice fried ham,” 
continued the tormentor, slipping into his coat. 

This was too much. 

“Confound you — I” began Trelawney, twist- 
ing in his berth and raising a countenance the 
color of overripe cheese. 

Bob took one look and hurriedly left the 
cabin, but atoned for his heartlessness by hunt- 
ing up a steward and sending him hot foot to 
Trelawney ’s assistance. 

“Where’s Trel,” asked Livingston, as Bob 
took his seat. 

The latter extended his fist dramatically with 
the thumb down. 

“Habet!” he said. 

262 


ON THE OTHER SIDE 

old Trell’’ said Newton. /‘That is a 
good one. Why, he has been boasting all along 
that he was an excellent sailor.’’ 

“Well,” said Livingston sagely, “we have a 
few miles to go yet, and I do not think it wonld 
be the part of wisdom for any of us to boast 
about that unstable quality. Is Trel being 
looked after f” he concluded, turning to Bob, 
who was busily engaged in stowing away some 
of the ham that had seemed so little to Trelaw- 
ney’s taste. 

“Yes, I sent the steward to him. I don’t 
think it’s serious. He’ll be all right by lunch.” 

After the first restlessness, common to all 
passengers, had been passed, the Warrington 
team settled down to the peaceful routine usual 
in such cases. 

McLane saw to it that the runners did a few 
laps round the deck every morning, just to keep 
their muscles supple, and produced a “medicine 
ball” for the weight throwers. The other pas- 
sengers took great interest in these exercises, 
and made a point of being present, evidently 
263 


'A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

much amused at the scanty costume of the run- 
ners. 

‘^You might think we were inmates of a hear 
garden,” growled Trelawney one day, as he 
stooped to pick up the ball, glancing meanwhile 
at the ring of intent spectators. 

‘‘Yes,” agreed Livingston, who was standing 
near the rail. ‘ ‘I am expecting any moment to 
see one of them offer you a cake on the end of a 
stick. Now sit up and look your prettiest. 
That girl in the blue suit wants to snap-shot 
you!” 

“Haven’t they ever seen a bunch of athletes 
before?” 

“Only the finished article, never in the mak- 
ing. You shouldn’t forget that all this is in- 
teresting to them as a glimpse behind the 
scenes. Mankind is always interested in seeing 
what makes the wheels go round.” 

The passage was a smooth one, and the men 
were able to exercise daily, so that when the 
Lizard was passed McLane was able to congrat- 
264 






ON THE OTHER SIDE 


ulate himself that his charges had in no way 
suffered from the voyage. It would take a day 
or so to bring back the spring to the muscles of 
the sprinters, but as the English championships 
did not take place for a week they gave the 
trainer little uneasiness. In fact, dreading the 
effect of the English climate on men accus- 
tomed to the heat of the States, he had stipu- 
lated upon six days on shore as being enough 
to tune up the runners and yet not sufficient for 
the climate to have any ill effects. 

Bob watched the green shores of England 
with interest as the boat steamed by within gun- 
shot. 

‘‘That must be the Isle of Wight, Liv, isn’t 
it?” he asked, as an island, glistening like an 
emerald in the sun appeared on the starboard 
bow. 

“Yes,” assented the latter, as he leaned on 
the railing watching the sea gulls soar and dip, 
now ahead, now behind the liner in their inces- 
sant search for refuse tossed overboard. 

265 


^ JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Look at all the boats!’’ exclaimed Bob, bis 
attention drawn to the many white sails that 
dotted the middle distance. 

“Yachts,” corrected Livingston. “Cowes 
lies over there, and that’s the great yachting 
resort, you know. I wouldn’t he surprised if 
that were a race we see now. Pretty, isn’t it? 
Looks like another flock of gulls.” 

The Island drew abeam, then astern and as 
the sun set in a crown of crimson the steamer 
turned her nose to Southampton. 

McLane marshaled his charges to the train, 
which lay drawn up by the dock, and bundled 
them into the reserved compartments. 

“Is this a full-sized train?” asked Trelaw- 
ney, as he surveyed the diminutive coaches, 
and the engine which was to draw them to Lon- 
don, “or a toy?” 

“Sssh!” said Livingston wamingly, with 
mock terror. “You will offend them. This is 
the famous boat train. The pride of the sys- 
tem. Warranted to do sixty miles to the 
hour.” 


266 


ON THE OTHER SIDE 


‘ ‘ Si:xty feet ! ’ ’ retorted Trelawney contemptu- 
ously. ‘‘Why I could put that engine in my 
pocket.’’ 

“Well,” said Livingston seriously. “You’ll 
find I am right. It looks small when you com- 
pare it with our giants, but it has the power.” 

The run up to London was a revelation to 
Bob Walters. It was a perfect summer even- 
ing, and the long English twilight enabled him 
to catch a glimpse of the country at its best. 
The well-cropped fields, the countless hedges, 
the neat villages which he at times caught sight 
of, enchanted him and he fell an easy victim to 
the charms of the most homelike country in the 
world. 

“Why, it’s not like anything I have ever 
seen!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “It is 
so trim! so neat! There are no raw places. 
Every railroad bank is a mass of green or flow- 
ers, where with us it would be a ragged scar 
in the hillside — it’s wonderful!” 

The train sped on, and justified Livingston’s 
confidence in its speed. Soon they began to 
267 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


run between scattered houses and then, with a 
suddenness that appalled them, the train 
plunged into the smoke and murk of London. 
Countless lights twinkled on every side in the 
growing darkness, but Bob received only the 
impression of a dark monster, belching smoke 
and fire and echoing back the shriek of the en- 
gine as it clattered over the ‘‘points,’’ or 
switches. 

A bevy of porters fastened to the train like 
leeches as it drew into the station, and in a 
trice the team and its luggage were bundled 
into an omnibus, and were on their way to the 
hotel. 

All but the manager and his assistants. 
They stayed behind to look after the trunks. 

As Livingston said, looking longingly after 
the omnibus when it drove off, “Here is where 
we earn our medals !” 


268 


CHAPTEE XXV 


A HOT QUAETEK-MILE 

A VISIT to the grounds at Stamford Bridge 
the next morning decided McLane that his 
team could train to better advantage outside of 
London. 

Yocum accordingly haunted the telegraph of- 
fice for some hours, with the result that, bag 
and baggage, the team went down to Brighton 
in the late afternoon. 

‘ ^ This is fine, ’ ’ said Bob, as they drove to the 
hotel along the beach front, and he whiifed the 
salt air. “We can get into trim in no time.’^ 

This was the general consensus of opinion, 
and McLane ’s brow, which had worn a frown 
ever since landing on English soil, cleared per- 
ceptibly. 

The use of the grounds of the Brighton Club 
was hospitably tendered to the Americans, and 
269 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


twice a day the team boarded the tramcars 
which conveyed them to their training. 

The weather was clear and warm ; conditions 
best suited for the Americans, and in a few 
days the men rounded into nearly their best 
form. 

Strict training requires a simple life, but 
Bob found enough to interest him in the char- 
acteristics of the English and their celebrated 
watering place to render the period far from 
dull. 

‘ ‘ Do you realize that to-morrow is the Fourth 
of July?’’ he asked one afternoon of Trelaw- 
ney. 

^‘By Jove, so it is ! I had entirely forgotten 
it,” replied the big hammer-thrower. ‘‘I don’t 
suppose there will be any chance of celebrat- 
ing.” 

‘‘No. There won’t be a firecracker in the 
whole place,” agreed Bob with disdain. “But 
it struck me that if we went walking this after- 
noon, we might, you observe that I say might, 
find some substitute which would help to mark 
270 


A HOT QUARTER-MILE 

the day.’’ Bob’s face was preternaturally sol- 
emn, but Trelawney observed a twinkle in one 
eye which could not be bidden. 

He looked at bis friend gravely for a moment 
and then agreed. 

‘‘We might, as you say, which if I have any 
knowledge of your character, leads me to be- 
lieve that you have already spotted a place 
where the needful may he procured, if in fact 
you have not already bought it and need me to 
carry it home!” 

Bob laughed. “You are becoming a pretty 
good guesser. Come along now.” 

The pair. Bob in the lead, walked back from 
the sea till they struck a small street running 
towards the Aquarium and ending in a court. 

“Here we are, Trel,” said Bob, and plunged 
into a small shop hearing the inscription 
“Guns and Ammunition.” 

Bob accosted the owner at once. 

“You told me yesterday you had some fire- 
works left over from last Guy Fawkes day. I 
would like to look at them, please. ’ ’ 

271 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


The shop keeper blinked at Bob through his 
glasses, and nodded his head. 

‘‘I have a few, sir,’’ he said apologetically, 
‘^but I am afraid they won’t amount to much.” 
He shulBfled the length of the counter and after 
much fumbling drew out a box containing an 
assortment of odds and ends. 

Bob looked them over with a practiced eye. 

Those rockets are no use to us,” he said 
laying them to one side, ‘^nor those mines, but 
a couple of these bombs will just about fill the 
bill. What do you think. Jack?” 

‘^Oh, we want more than that. Take the 
whole lot, while you are about it ! ” 

Bob drew him to one side. 

‘‘You don’t seem to appreciate the situation, 
Trel,’’ he said in a whisper. “In order to be 
allowed to fire off any of those we will have to 
get the permission of the Town Council, the 
Mayor, the Head of Police and a few other 
dignitaries. This isn’t America, you know! 
Now, will you get that permission?” 

272 


A HOT QUARTER-MILE 

said Trelawney, bewildered. ^^Cer- 
tainly not ! ^ ’ 

‘‘Well, do I look like doing it, either T’ said 
Bob with sarcasm. 

Trelawney looked at him for a full minute, 
and then it dawned on him. 

“I guess the bombs will be all we want!’’ he 
said with a chuckle. 

As the purchase was being wrapped up Bob 
broke into a grin. 

“What does this remind you of, Trel?” he 
asked. 

“The cannon, last year?” Bob nodded. 

“I hope it won’t prove as expensive,” re- 
turned Trelawney, with a groan, as he picked 
up the package. 

In the privacy of their room the two conspira- 
tors examined the bombs carefully. They were 
small affairs and Bob’s face fell when he 
thought of their inadequacy. 

“Well,” he said, “even if the noise is feeble, 
the day will have been observed ! ’ ’ 

273 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

Back of the hotel was a large garden, gaily 
planted with shrnbs and trees, and they pro- 
ceeded to reconnoitre for the best situation. 

‘^Here is the spot!^’ said Bob with enthusi- 
asm. 

They were standing in a small circle made by 
the juncture of five paths. 

‘‘We will put them in the shade of this tree, 
light the fuse and disappear down that alley. 
Luckily the fuses are of good length, so we can 
reach the hotel easily.’’ 

They were awake early, and each with a bomb 
carefully hidden, stole down the stairs. 

It was the work of but a moment to reach the 
little circle. A match sputtered, two sparks 
glowed in the semi-darkness and the disturbers 
of the peace were back in their rooms. 

“Boom!! Boom!!” 

“Not so bad!” said Bob critically. “We 
have saved the day from dishonor.” 

“I hope we can save ourselves from arrest,” 
said Jack, gloomily, as he heard the patter of 
274 


A HOT QUARTER-MILE 

feet and startled exclamations coming np from 
below. 

‘‘Yon are pessimistic!^’ remarked Bob. 
“No one saw ns, and anyway, the management 
will hnsh it np. They wonldn’t risk losing onr 
cnstom for sixty bombs.” 

And so it proved. 

An inqniry was set on foot, bnt discovered 
nothing, so it was pnt down to those “mad 
Americans,” and charged np on the bill. 

Yocnm swore vengeance when he discovered 
an item reading, “To one gravel path, 6 shill- 
ings,” bnt paid it rather than have the matter 
stirred np again. 

Two days later the team retnmed to London 
to spend the night in order to save the fatigne 
of the railway jonrney on the day of the cham- 
pionships. 

Satnrday was clondy, the air heavy with 
moistnre, and McLane conld only thank his 
stars that the change had not come sooner — it 
was bad enongh as it was. 

275 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

Bob found the grounds at Stamford Bridge 
very little dilferent from those at home, but he 
was astonished at the number of spectators. 
Every seat was taken in the small stands, and 
every inch of standing room preempted long 
before the first event was called. 

wish the spectators would come out like 
this at home,^’ commented Bob. ‘‘And did you 
notice another thing T’ he continued, “the 
large number of older men? Men who with us 
go to the games simply because they have a son 
or a nephew taking part, but these spectators 
seem up on it all. I heard some talking as I 
took a look round. They had the performances 
past and present of every competitor down pat. 
Just the way nien talk horse at home.’^ 

“There is a lot more of it, over here, you 
know,’^ explained Livingston, who overheard 
him. “Track athletics are followed in a way 
way we have no idea of. And the sport has its 
adherents as horse-racing does with us.^^ 

‘ ‘ Competitors in the first heat of the hundred 
yards run will make ready,’’ called an an- 
276 


A HOT QUARTER-MILE 

nouncer at the door of the dressing-room, and 
conversation ceased for the moment. 

Bob passed the time nntil his heat was called 
in the quarter by peeping out the door to catch 
a glimpse of what was passing, whenever he 
could evade McLane’s watchful eye, the trainer 
ordering him back to his bench on each occasion. 

‘‘Why don’t you let us do as the English- 
men, Mac?” he asked once. “They are 
wandering round with nothing over their clothes 
but a little blazer. They get a lot more fun 
out of it than I do ! ” 

“Perhaps they do, now,” growled McLane, 
“but who will get the most fun to-night after 
those prizes are distributed?” He pointed 
over Bob’s shoulder to the center of the field 
where on a large table were displayed a multi- 
tude of cups and medals. 

“There is something in that,” acknowledged 
Bob, and went obediently back to his seat. 

“Now, Kid,” said the trainer, as the welcome 
summons came at last, “don’t let the reverse 
way of running bother you. You have had 
277 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


enough practice in it. Only winners run in the 
final, remember, so do your best!’’ 

Bob trotted out on the track, rather amused 
at the very personal comments he heard upon 
his appearance, and presented himself to the 
starter. 

He found four other competitors assembled, 
and looked them over critically. He had been 
told that he need fear none, so took his place 
coolly. 

^ ‘ Crack ! ’ ’ 

He swung into his stride without perceptible 
effort, and rounding the first turn found him- 
self in third position. The leaders were setting 
a fast pace, but Bob experienced no difficulty 
in holding it. 

“He is running well,” said Trelawney to 
himself as he watched him. “He’ll move up 
presently. There he goes ! ’ ’ 

As the runners rounded the last turn Bob 
cut his sprint loose and in fifty yards was 
abreast of the leader. 

278 


A HOT QUARTER-MILE 

‘‘Good boy, Bob,^’ muttered Trelawney. 
“He is not going to overexert himself!” 

Bob found he had the race well in hand, and 
mindful of the final which awaited him, kept a 
safe lead of two yards and was never chal- 
lenged. 

McLane greeted him at the door of the 
dressing-room and congratulated him. 

“Lie down now/’ he said. “You have an 
hour before the final, and you’ll need all your 
speed to take the measure of the champion.” 

Bob suffered the rubbers to unlace his shoes 
and massage his legs, and then left to his own 
devices tried to be content to lie still. 

Trelawney broke in upon his musings by de- 
positing his hammer with a thump beside him. 

“How did you come out, Trel?” asked Bob, 
sitting up eagerly. 

“Pretty rotten,” grumbled Trelawney. “I 
haven’t caught the knack of this straight handle 
at all. I could do only 136 feet. It gave me 
second place, however — ” 

279 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘^Hard luck, but wait for Paris. You can use 
the loop handles there.’’ 

^‘Yes, I hope to get my revenge then.” 

Hurry up, Kid,” interrupted McLane. 
^^They have called the final.” 

Bob completed lacing his shoes, gave his feet 
a couple of stamps, and slipped out into the air. 

The Englishmen were beginning to look upon 
their American rivals with respect, for already 
seven out of twelve events, including the all-im- 
portant dash, had been captured by them. 

As Bob passed through the gate leading to 
the track he found that the critics were inclined 
to judge his form more favorably. 

He looked the English champion over, and 
felt he was meeting a foeman worthy of his 
steel. 

He ran a few strides down the track to limber 
up, and at the call of the starter took his place ; 
third from the pole. 

An instant of strained waiting — and then 
came the welcome signal. He repeated the 
maneuver of the earlier race, but found the 
280 


A HOT QUARTER-MILE 

pace distinctly faster. The Englishman had 
observed Bob^s finishing powers and was de- 
termined to decide the race in the first furlong. 

Faster and faster whirled the pace. Bob was 
running like a piece of well oiled machinery and 
the Englishman opened no gap. Bound the up- 
per turn they flew, and the leader wavered. 
The champion slipped by on the outside, with 
Bob still at his heels, and as the stretch opened 
before him Bob made his effort. A yard he 
gained, but no more — ^his rival held the lead by 
a scant two feet and the finish was near. 

Bob gritted his teeth and dug his spikes in 
the cinders viciously in one last effort, but the 
heavy English atmosphere played him false. 
His lungs were unable to get the extra bit of 
oxygen they needed and Bob’s sprint failed him. 

He hung on with grim determination, but that 
was all, and the champion held his laurels for 
another year. 

Thoroughly exhausted. Bob walked slowly 
through the gate, with hanging head. 

‘^Doan’t taike on so, lad,” said a kindly 
281 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


voice in his ear. ^^Ye ran a rare good race!’^ ‘ 

He looked np to see an honest English face 
smiling at him and a broad hand held out in en- 
couragement. 

Still too much out of breath to speak, he 
nodded his thanks, but he felt unaccountably 
lightened by this unlooked for appreciation. 

The day had been a memorable one for 
America, and McLane beamed upon his charges. 

All was bustle in the dressing-rooms, but 
time was taken to enable each man to receive 
his medal or cup in person from the President 
of the Association, The Eight Honorable Lord 
Alverstone. 

As Bob and Trelawney compared their silver 
medals with Newton’s gold one for the mile run. 
Bob said sadly. 

‘‘I am afraid we are only second class, after 
all, Trel.” 

“What’s that!” said a voice over his shoul- 
der. “Second class! We all go second class 
to Paris I” and Livingston smiled at them geni- 
ally. 


282 


CHAPTER XXVI 


ACROSS THE CHANNEL 

Early the next morning the team took the 
boat train to Dover. 

The chalk cliffs of the historic port were a 
revelation of beauty to Bob, and he stood in the 
stern of the boat gazing at the play of color 
upon them until they faded in the distance. 

The sea was fortunately like glass, and what 
might have put the whole team out of condition, 
for the channel has an ugly name in rough 
weather, left the men only benefited. 

As the steamer drew into the quay at Calais, 
Livingston got up from his seat with a sigh. 

‘‘This is where I get busy,’’ he remarked. 
“And it will not be easy to handle this mass of 
baggage ! I wish Yocum spoke French ! ’ ’ 

“So do I,” agreed the manager, joining them. 
“How are we going to arrange this?” 

283 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


you will get the men to the train, Yocum, 
you will find it drawn up just ofiP the wharf, I 
will attend to the trunks. I have already col- 
lected the keys from their owners, and will at- 
tend to the customs when we arrive at Paris. 
The hand baggage will be examined here. Just 
follow the other passengers and you will be all 
right. The examination is very trivial.’’ 

‘‘All right, Liv. Come on, hoys! Follow 
me.” 

The managers with difficulty marshaled their 
charges to the train, for the men were interested 
in every thing they saw, and refused to stay 
“put.” 

“Will you fellows stay in your seats'?” 
pleaded Yocum. “I don’t want to leave any of 
you behind, but I am bound to if you go stray- 
ing all over the station!” 

“En voitures. Messieurs, Mesdames,” shout- 
ed the guard, walking swiftly from compart- 
ment to compartment and slamming and locking 
the doors. 


284 


ACROSS THE CHANNEL 

There was a hurried rush for their seats by 
the belated ones and with a shrill toot, the train 
pulled out. 

Thank goodness,’’ said Yocum, wiping his 
forehead, ‘‘I have them safe now for a few 
hours, any way ! ’ ’ 

The usually tiresome journey to Paris was 
pure pleasure to the men in Yocum’s 'charge. 
No incident was too small to attract their inter- 
est; from the white caps and wooden shoes of 
the peasant women who waved at the train from 
every village, to the first glimpse of the Eitfel 
Tower. 

It was dusk when that colossus loomed in 
view, but there was an immediate rush for the 
windows when it was sighted. 

The entrance to Paris by railroad gives no 
sense of grandeur or awe as does London. 
After the short glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, 
the sights are common-place, and Bob found the 
few minutes ’ waiting very long, until the train 
slowed down in the brightly lighted terminal. 
285 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Gare du Nord!^’ ‘^Gare du Nord!’’ and a 
bevy of blue shirted, red capped porters 
stormed the doors of the carriages. 

‘‘Here we are at last/’ said Bob, and then 
as an after thought, “And I am hungry!” 

This sentiment was echoed by the other men, 
and then began one of the hardest parts of a 
manager’s existence, to feed a horde of hun- 
gry athletes en route. 

Eooms had been engaged at Versailles, where 
the team was to stay during the championships, 
so Yocum made hurried arrangements at the 
station restaurant, and then let loose the hun- 
gry men. 

The restaurant had a large variety of edibles, 
but when it came to feeding twenty starving 
savages on roast beef and chicken alone, the 
supply quickly gave out, and it took all Mc- 
Lane’s firmness to prevent a raid on the tarts 
and pastries which lined the counter. 

Whereupon the disgruntled twenty, taking no 
pity on their managers, hammered the table 
and called for more roast beef. A compromise 
286 


ACROSS THE CHANNEL 

was finally arranged by means of a large basket 
of sandwiches. 

The men admitted at last, though grudgingly, 
that their appetites were satisfied for the time 
being, and consented to be packed in an omni- 
bus and driven to the Gare St. Lazare to take 
the train for Versailles. 

There a long wait ensued. The managers 
were busy getting the trunks through the cus- 
toms, and it took Livingston’s best French and 
most polished manners to get the last one 
locked, strapped and on a wagon by nine 
o’clock. 

Then they just managed to miss a train, and 
were forced to wait another half hour. 

Yocum became very restless, and on Living- 
ston’s endeavoring to soothe him, replied. 

‘‘I don’t mind this waiting in itself, but I 
am awfully afraid those men will get hungry 
again, before we reach the hotel. Our finances 
won’t stand another orgy like the last!” 

At length the train was ready, and tired out 
with their long day, the men allowed themselves 
287 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


to be put aboard without trouble. That trip 
was a nightmare. The heat was intense, the 
train crowded and slow, and Bob changed his 
position a dozen times without resting his tired 
muscles. 

^‘Versailles! What romances that name can 
conjure! But to-night it conjures but bed! 
Just bed!’’ said Livingston. 

“Can’t conjure it too soon for me,” groaned 
Trelawney. 

In response to McLane’s suggestion the men 
walked briskly to the hotel and under Yocum’s 
supervision rooms were assigned. 

Bob, who felt thoroughly dirty, waited about 
for his trunk and was soon rewarded by seeing 
Livingston drive into the courtyard, seated on 
the top of the pile. 

“Here we are at last!” Livingston slipped 
down and directed the driver as to where the 
different pieces of baggage were to go. A 
deadlock at once ensued. 

“No, sir. I can’t take up any trunks to- 
night!” 


288 


ACROSS THE CHANNEL 


He was polite but firm. Bob was in despair. 
The hotel was small, and no one else appeared 
to make it his business. 

am going to have some clean things and a 
bath, if I must carry that trunk myself,’’ he 
said at last savagely, and unearthed it from the 
pile. 

^‘Look out. Bob, you will strain yourself,” 
exclaimed Livingston, in alarm. 

‘‘Strain nothing!” said the irate runner, and 
shouldered the trunk. The Frenchman looked 
on in amazement at this crazy American, and 
Bob staggered up two flights of crooked, dark 
stairs to his room unaided. 

A sleepy chambermaid brought the usual tin 
bath and a quart of water. Bob looked at it 
with contempt ; but it was a bath, and the water 
was cold. He stripped. “My, that’s good,” 
he said. Clean once more and fairly cool he 
stepped to the open window. The moon was 
full. He looked down upon the tops of horse 
chestnut trees which arched over the street, 
hiding it from view, and making an elevated 
289 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


pathway of green foliage. The little town was 
asleep, and silent. He leaned on the little iron 
balcony, and watched the play of the moon- 
light on the leaves. 

Suddenly, from somewhere beneath that sil- 
very green canopy, a woman ^s voice broke 
softly into song. The notes seemed unreal; de- 
tached from earth and wandering free. 

As Bob listened, he felt the discomforts and 
irritations of the long day slip from him, and 
for the first time he felt something of the haunt- 
ing loveliness of France. 


290 


CHAPTER XXVII 


MC LANE ’S MISHAPS 

McLane was much annoyed the next morning 
when he discovered that there was no track at 
Versailles where the team could practice. 

The Olympic Games were to he held at the 
grounds of the Racing Club of France, in the 
Bois de Boulogne, but that was too far away 
for the men to reach it with any degree of com- 
fort. In fact, the only route possible without 
returning to Paris was to take a branch line to 
a small station and then drive six miles to the 
grounds. 

Yocum and Livingston scoured the country, 
hut even vacant fields are not numerous near 
Paris, and they were forced to admit failure. 

McLane, with characteristic boldness, then 
succeeded. 

canT have my men getting all stiffened 
291 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


up,’’ he said, angrily. ‘‘There is too much at 
stake. What’s the matter with the park?” 

Livingston gasped. “You mean the Park of 
Versailles?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” returned McLane determinedly. 
“There is some fine turf in there among the 
trees, and quite space enough to give the men a 
good warming up. I’ll take them out this after- 
noon ! ’ ’ 

“But what about the police?” Livingston’s 
sense of humor was getting the better of his dis- 
cretion and McLane ’s way of overcoming ob- 
stacles appealed to him. 

“They’ll never see us,” said the trainer, 
confidently. “The place is nearly as big as all 
outdoors.” 

“It is,” agreed Livingston gravely. “But 
won’t they take notice of the costumes before 
you hide yourselves?” 

“Oh, I’ll make them dress out there!” was 
the answer, and the trainer went off to marshal 
his charges. 

Livingston looked after him in admiration. 

292 


McLANE^S MISHAPS 


‘‘No one but an American would ever have 
thought of that!’^ he said, shaking his head and 
chuckling. 

McLane was as good as his word. That 
afternoon, with six men, he went for an unos- 
tentatious walk in the forest (running clothes 
can fortunately be folded into small compass) 
and after some deliberation selected a broad 
glade where the turf was good. Not a guard 
troubled the practice and McLane returned to 
the hotel much elated. 

Thus it came about that for many days the 
ghosts of a murdered queen and her ladies saw 
strange happenings in their sacred groves. 
Well may they have thought that the gods 
themselves had come once more to earth. 
Surely that youth who overtook the winds was 
Hermes; and who but Jupiter himself could 
hurl those massive thunderbolts through 
space! 

Be that as it may, one day the gods were 
missing, and an unassuming party of Americans 
took the train for Paris. 

293 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


When Bob first saw the grounds of the Racing 
Club, he laughed aloud. 

‘‘Did you ever imagine a more inadequate 
place to hold the athletic championships of the 
world?’’ amusement and indignation strug- 
gling for the mastery in his voice. 

“A grass track! It’s not even oval! By 
Jove, I believe they have laid this out as best 
they could among the trees ! ’ ’ 

The track was in the midst of a thickly 
wooded park, with here and there an open 
glade. 

“It’s very attractive though, isn’t it?” said 
Livingston. 

“It’s attractive enough, all right,” growled 
Trelawney, “but how am I going to throw the 
hammer? Do they expect me to dodge the 
trees?” 

It was evident that adequate facilities for 
handling such a large body of men were en- 
tirely lacking, but the visitors determined to 
make the best of things. 

From the beginning the Americans swept the 
294 


McLANE'S MISHAPS 


board, and the Warrington team especially dis- 
tinguished itself. 

On the first day Winter won the hurdles, 
hands down; Johnson of the Metropolitan 
Athletic Club, the shot, with Trelawney third; 
and Lake also of the Metropolitan the two 
standing jumps. Bob failed to qualify in the 
hundred metres. 

He was not cast down by this reverse, how- 
ever, and pinned his hopes on the quarter, or 
four hundred metres, in which he would have 
another chance at the English champion. 

Tuesday was a blank day, so Bob and Tre- 
lawney joined forces with Johnson and by per- 
suading McLane to accompany them obtained 
permission to spend a few hours sight seeing. 

The trainer insisted that a cab was the 
proper vantage point from which to see Paris 
and refused to let them touch foot to ground. 
The cabby gave an apprehensive look at his 
vehicle when the weights of Johnson and Tre- 
lawney settled in it, but whipped up his horse 
without comment. 


295 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


His first view of Paris was a rare delight to 
Bob. The wide, well-kept streets, the solid 
buildings ; the occasional glimpse of some nar- 
row by-pass with mediaeval structures peering 
at him with hints of forgotten romances, fin- 
ished with a drive up that most beautiful of 
avenues, the Champs Elysee, left Bob speech- 
less with delight, and he looked forward with 
eagerness to the day he would be free from the 
trainer ^s watchful eye and at liberty to explore 
at his own will and pleasure. 

As they turned past the Arch into a side 
street, McLane suggested they walk to the sta- 
tion, and accordingly they dismissed the cab. 

‘‘Hold on. Kid,’’ said McLane, as Bob made 
a motion to pay the driver. “This is on me. 
How much is it!” 

“Ten francs,” replied Bob. “But you had 
better give him a franc extra.” 

McLane accordingly added the tip, but it did 
not appear to meet with the driver’s approval, 
for he burst into a volley of abuse, gesticulating 
with both hands. 


296 


McLANE^S MISHAPS 


McLane^s knowledge of French was of the 
slightest, but the man^s face was translation 
enough. 

McLane stepped to the wheel. 

‘‘Shut up! Sale cochon!” He spoke 
sharply, and the effect on the driver was in- 
stantaneous. He grabbed his whip and leaped 
to the ground, aiming a blow at the trainer 
as he landed. 

McLane was half the size of his assailant, but 
the straight right from the shoulder with 
which he met the attack seemed to have the nec- 
essary weight behind it, for the driver dropped 
back against the cab. 

McLane coolly seized the whip, broke it into 
two pieces, threw them contemptuously in the 
driver’s face, and started down the street. 

“Come on, boys, or we will miss our train,” 
he called. 

When they were safely aboard, McLane 
leaned over to Bob. 

‘ ‘ Say, Kid, what does that name I called him 
mean?” 


297 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Do you mean to say you don^t knowT^ said 
Bob, amazed. 

“No ! A fellow told it to me once and said if 
I ever wanted some action to say it to a French- 
man. I guess he was right, too. The action 
came in a hurry.’’ 

Bob rolled on his seat in pure joy. 

“That’s the best I ever heard,” he gasped. 
“You called him a dirty pig.’’ 

“My gracious,” said McLane, “did 11 I 
don’t wonder he got mad. But it pretty nearly 
fitted him, I think. ’ ’ 


298 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE OLYMPIC GAMES 

SEE that the Government is making its 
usual preparations for the 14th,’’ said Living- 
ston the next morning, idly turning the pages 
of a French paper, as he sat in the hotel court- 
yard. 

‘‘What do you mean?” asked Bob looking up 
abstractedly. 

‘ ‘ The 14th of July which, as you know, means 
in France about what the 4th of July does to 
us, has on several occasions caused or nearly 
caused the overthrow of the Republic. It is a 
fete day with the French in commemoration of 
the fall of the Bastille, and being a very mer- 
curial people it does not take much to start a 
riot. So the Government considers it wise to 
have the troops very much in evidence. ’ ’ 

“Paris must be worth seeing that day” said 
299 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Bob, sitting up with interest. ^^We ought to 
be on hand.” 

‘‘It is indeed. I was here once several years 
ago. They have a magnificent display of fire- 
works in the evening; the streets are jammed, 
and if you get a position of advantage you see 
the French from an unusual view-point. 

“When is it?” asked Bob excitedly. “Let’s 
come in!” 

“Will Mac let you?” replied Livingston. 
Bob thought for a moment. “The 14th,” he 
said, “That’s Thursday. Why, of course, he 
will. I break training then. The games will 
be all over. I can do, see, and eat what I 
please!” 

“That’s all right then,” said Livingston 
heartily. “Let’s make a date for that night. 
Trel and Newton will be along — just we four, 
and I’ll show you where you can get a good 
meal. Then we will go out and see the sights 
and try to keep out of trouble.” 

“That program suits me all right,” replied 
Bob with satisfaction. “But, I am presuming 
300 


THE OLYMPIC GAMES 


that you know where to find this good meal you 
speak of,’’ he continued with irony. 

^‘You leave that to me,” returned Livingston 
secure in his knowledge. ‘‘I won’t tell you 
about it, and you will have the surprise of your 
life. I am going to take you to a place famous 
for one dish!” 

‘^One dish!” exclaimed Bob in mock dismay* 
‘‘Do you realize that Trelawney will he present 
with his appetite!” 

“Well, I’ll wager that Trelawney won’t want 
more than this one.” 

“By the way,” said Bob as an afterthought. 
“This isn’t going to interfere with that banquet 
they are going to tender the American team, is 
it! It would never do to miss that!” 

“No,” replied Livingston re-assuringly. 
“That is slated for Saturday. So we carry out 
our plan un-hampered.” 

“Lunch!” called McLane across the court- 
yard, and Bob hurried in to his frugal meal 
with visions of Thursday’s orgy floating before 
his mind. 


301 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

It was amusing to watch the French specta- 
tor at that day’s meeting, which was given 
up principally to field sports. 

The grand stand, a dainty affair upholstered 
in red velvet, was so small that hut a negligible 
number of the comparatively few spectators 
could be accommodated therein, and the bal- 
ance, each armed with a camp stool, wandered 
from point to point, as the different events were 
called. 

Under the French system but one event took 
place at a time, so that nothing need be missed ; 
a system pleasant enough for the competitors, 
but very boring to the Anglo-Saxon spectators, 
accustomed to the three-ring circus. 

It was a novel sensation to the high jumpers, 
accustomed to the strictly guarded enclosures of 
England and the United States to find them- 
selves surrounded on all sides by a little army 
of spectators, who had scurried to points of 
vantage, upon the announcement of the event, 
each with his little white camp stool, like curi- 
ous cotton-tails. 


302 


THE OLYMPIC GAMES 


This did not particularly annoy the contest- 
ants nor was it dangerous to the rabbit colony, 
but when the same emigration took place, upon 
the officials calling for contestants in the six- 
teen pound hammer, and Trelawney advanced, 
dragging that dangerous missile after him to 
find the seven foot circle nearly surrounded by 
camp stools and perspiring Frenchmen at the 
disrespectful distance of five feet, he felt called 
upon to enter a protest. 

Throwing the hammer was a new event to 
these spectators and they were determined to 
miss nothing, so when Trelawney waved his 
hand at them motioning them away, they duti- 
fully picked up their camp stools, retired two 
feet and sat down again. The officials were 
equally ignorant of the dangers of this event, 
and perhaps for that reason were unable to 
clear the ground. Finally Trelawney became 
exasperated. ‘'If you won't go, I suppose you 
won't! 

“It doesn't make much difference to me, 
of course, how many I kill of you, but in view 

303 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


of the already decreasing population of France 
I thought you might be interested ! ’ ’ 

Without more ado, he seized his hammer and 
stepped into the ring. 

The Frenchmen leaned forward eagerly as 
the missile whirled round his head, but as he be- 
gan his first turn, their interest cooled and be- 
fore the hammer had finished its flight the 
French had begun theirs ! 

Bob, who had been watching the comedy, 
laughed outright. 

‘^It only needed a practical illustration, 
Trel, ’ ’ he said. 

Thereafter the hammer throwers were not 
bothered by spectators. 

The trees, however, were and remained a 
serious handicap. Many a promising throw 
was spoilt by coming in contact with a branch, 
and though special ground rules were made, 
permitting such throws to be repeated, the an- 
noyance tended to throw the competitors otf 
their form. 

Johnson, who held the world ^s championship, 

304 


r the OLYMPIC GAMES 

[ speedily made a throw which put first place out 
of reach of the others. Trelawney hit a tree 
once; made a hundred and fifty feet on his 
second, fouled once, and then being in third 
I place put all his strength and knowledge into 
I his last attempt. 

Slowly he whirled the hammer round his 
head, jumped quickly into his first turn, and 
then spinning like a top, flashed round on his 
second and let the missile fly. 

All watched it anxiously. Would it clear the 
tree? Yes! No! Yes! It sailed gracefully 
by the threatening branch and descended with a 
thud in the soft turf. 

Trelawney bent over the tape with anxiety, 
as it ran through the fingers of the official. 
‘‘One hundred and fifty,’’ he read — “fifty-five, 
— six; eight.” 

The measurer tightened the tape, scrutinized 
it for a moment and then announced : 

“Mr. Trelawney throws one hundred and 
fifty-eight feet, nine inches.” 

“G-ood work, Trel!” said Bob, enthusiastic- 

305 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

ally. “That beats your record^ doesn’t it?” 

“Yes. I wish I had another throw. I feel 
as though I could get it out any distance. This 
heat makes my muscles work as though they 
were in a bath of oil!” 

The Englishman was unable to better his rec- 
ord and Trelawney felt he had wiped out his 
previous defeat. 

Late that afternoon Bob had an opportunity 
to regain his laurels in the four hundred metres. 

It was in his favor to run once more the 
right way of the track and he found the turf 
no impediment to his stride. The heat suited 
him too, so that when he toed the mark he felt 
very confident of success. 

Again he let the Englishman take the lead, 
again challenged him a hundred yards from 
home ; ran neck and neck for a few strides, then 
sailed into the lead and broke the tape in the 
good time of 49 2-5 seconds. 

That ended the sports for the day and it was 
a contented crowd of men that turned their 
faces towards Versailles. 

306 


THE OLYMPIC GAMES 


McLane’s quiet smile was sign enough how 
well his pupils had performed, and with but the 
2500 metres steeple chase left of the track con- 
tests he centered his attention on Newton. 

The race, approximately a mile and a half, 
with many stiff jumps, including the usual 
water obstacle, would prove a gruelling contest, 
for some of England’s best men were entered. 

McLane was somewhat worried about New- 
ton, whose condition was not of the best, the 
fierce heat having told on him. But it was a 
resolute little runner who answered the start- 
ers’ call. 

Newton did not feel well. He dreaded the 
long journey ahead of him, but his will had set 
firm and there was no thought of withdrawal in 
that plucky brain. 

He took the first few jumps in his usual fault- 
less style, but when at the end of the first half 
mile his English rivals quickened the pace he 
found himself unable to respond. 

am afraid I’m done,” he said to himself 
as he saw the leaders draw further away; his 

307 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

legs grew tired and heavy. His face took on 
the haggard expression of the nearly exhausted 
runner. But ‘H’ll not give up yet” he kept 
repeating to himself as he struggled for breath. 
His heart was pounding against his ribs and it 
took all his courage to face the water jump. He 
made the effort, fell short, scrambled out, tot- 
tered for a moment, and resumed his painful 
way. 

‘‘Newton’s done!” said Bob, sorrowfully, 
watching the ever widening gap between his 
friend and the leaders. 

Then as he watched, “By Jove !” he said with 
awe. 

Newton was never able to explain just what 
happened, hut suddenly he felt an influx of oxy- 
gen in his lungs, his heart resumed a more 
normal beat, and with joy he felt his muscles 
tighten in him. 

“I can do it yet,” he said, and, still running 
painfully, he began to creep up. 

Up ! Up ! he went. He was in the full tide 
of his second wind now, and though terribly ex- 

30S 


THE OLYMPIC GAMES 


hausted, his brain kept hammering, hammering 
ont the phrase, ‘‘I can still do it!^’ 

Now it was the turn of the weaker contest- 
ants. Man after man dropped back to see a 
white face, set rigidly, determination indomit- 
able written on every feature, pass him. 

One figure was still ahead, looming large to 
Newton’s swimming gaze, but his brain still 
kept repeating the encouraging phrase, in 
louder and louder crescendo, until with a burst 
of joy, have done it!” he said. The man 
ahead of Newton faltered, his pace slackened 
for an instant, and the American leaped into the 
lead. His way lay clear before him. 

Hats were flung heavenward; camp stools 
thrown by excitable Frenchmen rained round 
unprotected heads, while every spectator did 
homage to the most spectacular feat of the day. 

Bob and Trelawney helped the exhausted run- 
ner to a cot and stripped him of his clothes be- 
fore turning him over to the hands of the rub- 
bers. 

Trelawney stood in a daze repeating, ‘‘by 

309 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


Jove, by Jove,’’ as be gazed at the small figure, 
until his name was called excitedly from with- 
out. 

^‘Come out here, Trelawney. You’re 
wanted ! ’ ’ 

‘‘What’s the matter?” said Trelawney, go- 
ing to the door, where he was met by Johnson, 
who was in a great state of excitement. 

“We have challenged the Scandinavians to a 
tug-of-war. They won the prize yesterday, you 
know, from the French. This won’t be for the 
prize — ^just for the honor.” 

“Why, we can’t beat those fellows,” said 
Trelawney. “They are a regular team and 
weigh about a ton apiece.” 

“We can make a try at it, anyway,” said 
Johnson. “It will be more fun than a box of 
monkeys.” 


310 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A TUG OF WAE 

Trelawney got excited himself, and began 
asking questions about the rules. 

‘‘Six men on a side,’’ replied Johnson as 
they threaded their way through the crowd. 
“No anchor-belt or cleats. A straight stand up 
pull.” 

“What is the time limit?” 

“There isn’t any, as I understand it. The 
rope is marked in the middle, a mark made two 
feet each side of that, and then you pull until 
you gain the two feet! Best two out of three 
tries.” 

‘ ‘ Phew ! ’ ’ said Trelawney, in dismay. ‘ ‘ That 
will be an endurance test! Why can’t they set 
a time limit?” 

“Don’t know. Those are the rules, and we 
will have to stand them. ’ ’ 

311 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 



The two men pushed their way to the center 
of an excited knot, who seemed to be arguing 
some question hotly. 

‘‘What’s the trouble now'F” asked Johnson of 
McLane, who was in the thick of it. 

McLane turned to the speaker. “It’s a ques- 
tion of shoes now,” he said. “They object to 
our spikes, because they haven’t any, while we 
have no smooth shoes. It looks like a dead- 
lock.” 

‘ ‘ Why not take our shoes otf , and pull in our 
bare feet!” suggested Trelawney. “Would 
they allow that ! ’ ’ 

“I’ll see, anyway!” and he put the question 
to the Scandinavians. 

They consulted together for a few moments, 
while the crowd, which was growing larger 
every moment, regarded them with curiosity. 

They were a remarkable set of men. All 
stood six feet or over and in weight seemed to 
approach very nearly Trelawney ’s estimate of 
them. They looked unusually strong, but car- 
ried much more flesh than the six Americans, 
312 


A TUG OF WAR 

who were trained down to the point of most 
efficiency. 

‘‘Bare feet it is!’’ exclaimed McLane as the 
spokesman of the Scandinavians separated 
from his companions and nodded to him, “Now, 
boys, for the honor of America, you have got to 
pull those fellows over!” 

The crowd roared with delight as the Ameri- 
cans sat down and proceeded methodically to di- 
vest themselves of their footgear. 

By main force, the officials cleared a lane suffi- 
ciently large for the event to take place and 
after fixing a stake in the ground, and marking 
the rope, laid it carefully in position. 

The two teams lined up. Trelawney took his 
place*4hird from the front and settled his weight 
against the rope. 

The judge adjusted the rope for a moment 
until the mark was directly over the stake, 
took a look at both teams and fired the pistol. 

^The twelve men heaved on the rope, which 
quivered violently for a moment and then, as 
the strain became constant, settled down. It 

313 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


was seen that the Americans had gained six 
inches at the start. 

The seconds slipped by without any further 
advantage to either side. Then the rope shook 
and slowly but surely began to move towards 
the Americans. 

In vain the Scandinavians shouted, and 
pulled; their rivals were not to be denied, and 
in another moment the judge, who had been 
sighting across the rope, held up his hand. The 
two feet had been gained; the Americans had 
won the first heat. 

‘‘That was too easy,’’ said Trelawney, as he 
straightened up. “It couldn’t have been more 
than twenty seconds ! ’ ’ 

The Scandinavians were chatting amongst 
themselves, as they changed ends, and took the 
rope again with no sign of dismay. 

“It won’t be so easy this time, Trel,” said 
Bob, from the front row of spectators. “Un- 
less I am mistaken they have something up 
their sleeves.” 


314 


A TUG OF WAR 

Trelawney nodded in reply as he took his 
place. 

Once more the judge adjusted the rope ; once 
more the two teams threw themselves back. 
But when the dust cleared it was seen that the 
Scandinavians had gained the six inches and 
were adding inch by inch to that beginning. 

The crowd had got out of control this time 
and pressed closely towards the contestants. 

It seemed to side with the Americans, and 
threw advice, encouragement and vilification at 
the struggling men. Slowly the rope drew to- 
wards the Scandinavians. 

Trelawney and the others dug their toes in 
the ground, like ‘ ‘ Darwinian demons, ’ ’ as some- 
one remarked, but in vain; inch by inch they 
lost until the handkerchief tied on the rope was 
but a scant half foot from the fatal stake. 

It was an extraordinary scene. Two long 
lines of gesticulating, half-crazy spectators, 
shouting, laughing, and almost crying as they 
implored the team to resist that almost resist- 

315 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


less pull of tlie Scandinavians. A bedlam 
broke loose. But apparently oblivious to the 
noise surrounding them, the twelve men lean- 
ing backwards, almost motionless under the ter- 
rible strain, concentrated every faculty on the 
rope, which stretched stiff as an iron bar. 

Trelawney’s forearms, unaccustomed to such 
sustained effort, began to ache. The muscles 
stood out like whip cord, while the veins showed 
in long ridges above the flesh. 

Johnson wrapped the end of the rope round 
his waist and, calling to the team threw his 
great body backwards. The team responded to 
his voice with a supreme effort and the rope be- 
came stationary. 

For what seemed an eternity of effort neither 
side gained an inch. It seemed as though the 
Americans had exhausted their last remnant of 
power in stopping the advance of the rope. 
They gave no sign of weakening. 

The struggle resolved itself into a contest of 
will power. Neither team could add another 
ounce to their pull; who would weaken first? 

316 


A TUG OF WAR 


Trelawney felt as though he would give the 
world to loose his hold and straighten his 
cramped fingers. His arms ached intolerably 
but were fast becoming numb from the stoppage 
of the blood in his hands. Bob, who could 
scarcely restrain his exitement, watched the 
faces of the Scandinavians for the first sign of 
weakness. Suddenly he cried out : 

‘‘Pull, Trelawney. YouVe got them! 
Pull!^ 

Flesh and blood alone could stand the strain 
no longer. Though trained to the work, the 
Scandinavians began to feel they had met their 
match. It was the beginning of the end. 

Slowly, under Bob ’s hail of words, the Ameri- 
cans regained the lost inches. For a moment 
the fight hung even; a toss-up. Then their op- 
ponents weakened, and with a wild rush the 
Americans fairly pulled them off their feet. 

The crowd did not wait for any decision. It 
surged over the spot and nearly smothered their 
champions in the exuberence of their feelings. 

Trelawney weakly shook himself free and 

317 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


staggered towards the dressing-rooms. From 
the elbow down his arms were powerless, and 
now with the blood once again rushing freely 
through his veins, ached with an agony intol- 
erable. His fingers were swollen and bent. He 
tried to move them but could not. His fore- 
arms, swollen much above the normal size, burnt 
like fire. Hardly knowing what he did, he 
walked slowly towards the water jump and, 
dropping limply, thrust both arms into the 
trench to the elbow. 

‘‘That feels good!’’ he said to himself, and 
lay there oblivous of the curious glances of the 
passersby, until Bob found him. 

“Never again for mine!” he said fervently 
when he had somewhat recovered. “I never 
knew muscles could hurt so ! I won’t be able to 
use my arms for a week!” 

The dressing-rooms were filled with a merry 
crowd. Medals were being passed from hand 
to hand to be admired; plans for the evening 
being formulated and newly made friends 
parted with. 


A TUG OF WAR 


The greatest merriment and the most medals 
however, were to be found in the American 
room, and McLane passed from man to man 
congratulating each upon his work. 

‘‘IsnT that a peach of a medal, though, 
Mac!’’ asked Bob, as the trainer stopped near 
him. 

McLane took the bit of gold held out to him 
and examined it. 

On the obverse. Victory was scattering laurel 
wreaths, while the reverse bore a bas relief of 
an athlete standing triumphant with a wreath 
held on high. 

‘‘That’s a trophy worth having. Kid,” said 
McLane, kindly. “That’s something you can 
show your grandchildren some day with pride, 
and tell them how you beat the best of Europe.” 

“I’ll have to tell them then, who it was that 
made it possible,” returned Bob, affectionately. 
“I owe it all to you.” 

“I only showed you how. Kid. The rest of it 
depended on you!” 


319 


CHAPTEE XXX 


A DEBT PAID 

With the tug-of-war the Olympic champion- 
ships proper came to an end. A number of 
handicap events had been arranged, and many 
of the men intended to take part in them, but 
the great strain was over. The teams were un- 
officially disbanded, and McLane left it to each 
individual to decide whether he would compete 
or not. 

By virtue of winning the 400 metres cham- 
pionship Bob was placed so far back in the 
handicap that he saw at once it would be use- 
less for him to compete. So he banished all 
thought of additional medals and entered into 
the plans for the 14th with eagerness. 

I am a bit tired of Versailles, Liv,’’ he con- 
fessed as they sat talking things over. ‘‘Let’s 
move bodily to Paris to-morrow, so as to 
320 



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A DEBT PAID 


be on band for anything that may turn up!’’ 

‘‘That suits me,” returned Livingston, and 
the other two fell willingly into the plan. 

“Which hotel shall it be?” asked Livingston. 
“We may have difficulty getting rooms any- 
where; owing to the Exposition, Paris is very 
crowded; but I’ll try anywhere you say.” 

“I don’t much care, so it’s cheap,” said Bob. 

“They will all be dear. And I am not sure 
that it wouldn’t be wiser to pay a little more 
and really be comfortable. A real bath tub, for 
instance,” and Livingston grinned. 

“I’m with you there!” said Trelawney with 
emphasis. “I’m sick of these bird saucer apol- 
ogies for the real porcelain article. I vote for 
a real tub in a real bath room under the same 
roof with me. ’ ’ 

“You speak feelingly,” commented Newton. 
“What have you been up to?” 

“Why, didn’t I tell you of my experience the 
other day?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I got tired, as I said, of these tin 
321 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


tilings they bring to yon. They were too small 
for me, so I enquired from the clerk and found 
that there was a real tub to be had at the pub- 
lic baths. That sounded too good to be true, 
but away I went and after some difficulty found 
the place. It was Saturday, and I learnt after- 
wards I should have chosen any other day, for 
Saturday is the bathing time for Versailles and 
environs. I smelt a rat when I drew near the 
place, for the street was crowded. Each pros- 
pective bather was armed with a towel and a 
piece of soap. I understand it is cheaper if 
you bring your own. ’ ^ 

Where did you learn all these details?” 
asked Newton, grinning. ^‘Your French is 
hardly up to such intimate details, is it?” 

‘‘Sir!” said Trelawney, with mock indigna- 
tion. “I would have you know that my mas- 
tery of the French language is only exceeded by 
your ignorance of it. I learned these details 
from the porter of the hotel.” 

“But he speaks English,” objected Newton. 

“I am aware of that fact” returned Tre- 


322 


A DEBT PAID 


lawney, a twinkle in his eye breaking down the 
dignified mask he had assumed, ‘‘but I did not 
know that you were ! ^ ’ 

“Revenons a nos moutons,’’ urged Living- 
ston when the laugh had subsided. “On with 
the tale!’’ 

“Well, the gates were locked, and as I did 
not have the French porter with me, it took me 
some time to understand that the baths were 
filled by prior claimants. If I had known — but 
I didn’t; so I waited ten minutes or so, and 
then out came a spotlessly clean band, virtue 
and soap shining from every feature. There 
was a mad rush for the gates, and by dint of 
much pushing, making myself thereby rather 
unpopular, 1 managed to be included in the next 
relay. When my turn came at the ticket win- 
dow, I was assailed by a torrent of bad French, 
so bad that I could not understand it — ” 
“Whowgh!” exclaimed Newton. Tre- 
lawney treated him to a cold stare of disdain 
and continued: 

“I held out a couple of francs and was given 

323 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


my change after the dragon had tried to com- 
municate something to me, but in vain. It is 
a pity these provincials are not taught to speak 
their own language. A rosy cheeked maid ap- 
peared from somewhere and led me to a little 
two by four room. But there was the tub ! Not 
man^s size, to be sure, but big enough. I no- 
ticed that she carried a number of sheets with 
her, and at first I was under the impression that 
she was going to make up a bed for me, but I 
soon learned my error. She gracefully draped 
one sheet in the tub and then turned on the 
water. It struck me as a good idea in view 
of the promiscuous crowd that must have al- 
ready used that same tub, so I made no objec- 
tion. 

^^Well, she retired. I disrobed, doubled my- 
self up like a jackknife, and crept cautiously in. 
Ah ! it was good to be wet all at one time once 
more ! The water was very hot. I had a good 
long soak and felt like a new man again. But 
if it is possible I would prefer to have the tub 
in the same block, at least 

324 


A DEBT PAID 


There was a general laugh as Trelawney 
ended his recital. Livingston clapped him on 
the back. 

‘‘I think I can promise you one on the same 
floor. 

‘^Hurrah 

‘^And perhaps next your room, but we will 
have to go to the Continental. It’s very Amer- 
ican — ^not nearly as interesting as some of the 
small French hotels, but it is comfortable and 
not so expensive as some others. And then, be- 
sides, it is right in the center of things ! ’ ’ 

‘‘I vote for it,” said Bob, and the others 
agreeing, the" Continental was chosen. 

Packing took the early hours of the morning, 
but by midday they had secured their rooms, 
with the coveted bath, and were ready for ad- 
ventures. 

Paris was crowded. As they drove from the 
station Bob had noticed that every cafe was 
filled. The pavements swarmed with a multi- 
tude endeavoring to find seats at the little iron 
tables placed in front of each restaurant, and 

325 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


every corner had its knot of excited, gesticulat- 
ing Frenchmen. 

The Place Vendome, with its imperial col- 
umns, held his attention, and he felt a pang of 
pity for that strange man who had risen to an 
imperial height, but only to fall so low at last. 
Trelawney, however, could not be moved by 
historical events until the tub question was set- 
tled. 

‘‘Don’t stop the cab now. Bob, to look at that. 
Wait till we are settled, and then I’ll bring a 
camp stool out and hero-worship with you! 
Won’t that satisfy you?” 

The afternoon was spent in sightseeing. Bob 
and Livingston went to the Louvre and the lat- 
ter renewed old acquaintances, while the for- 
mer made friends at first hand with many pic- 
tures and statues he had been taught to revere 
in fac simile. 

“Here is something I want to show you,” 
said Livingston as they emerged from the last 
gallery. 

He led the way into the gardens of the Tuil- 


A DEBT PAID 

leries, crowded at this hour with nurses and 
their charges. 

A moment’s walk down a side path brought 
them in view of a small crowd watching some- 
thing with intent stillness. 

‘‘Come quietly,” warned Livingston as they 
approached, and Bob, by now thoroughly mys- 
tified as to what he was to see, advanced on tip- 
toe. 

An old man stood quietly by the customary 
stand of picture post cards and for a moment 
Bob saw nothing to explain the interest of the 
people surrounding him. 

Then “Viens, Fifi!” called the man, and a 
sparrow flew down from an arching branch and 
lighted on his outstretched hand. 

“Play dead, Fifi!” was the next command, 
and Bob held his breath as the bird obediently 
fluttered to the ground, rolled on its side and 
lay still. 

“Bien, Fifi,” chirped the man, and Fifi 
bounded up to disappear once more in the tree 
over-head. 


327 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘Pierrette! Mignon!’’ called this astonishing 
wizard, and at once the call was answered. 

“This is amazing,’^ whispered Bob, as the 
birds went through several tricks and then like 
Fifi flew away. 

“ Viens, mes petits and a score of feathered 
creatures dropped from nowhere and perched 
themselves at ease upon the old man’s person. 

“It really is marvellous,” said Livingston 
as he turned away. “Those are simply wild 
birds he has trained — caught and taught in 
these gardens. He has been here to my knowl- 
edge for ten years and I am told has been 
doing this for forty. You notice he accepts no 
money. It is apparently just his hobby to come 
here every day and teach the birds to know 
him.” 

“He must have the patience of Job,” re- 
marked Bob feelingly, “for it’s not easy to 
make a wild bird come to your call, to say 
nothing of making it do tricks.” 

When they reached the hotel they found their 
friends waiting impatiently. 

328 


A DEBT PAID 


‘‘Where is this wonderful place you are 
going to take us toT’ asked Trelawney. “Bob 
has made my mouth water by describing the 
luscious menu you have prepared, but as yet I 
am in total darkness what it is that I am to 
eat.’’ 

“Have patience, Trel. Have patience,” an- 
swered Livingston. “You’ll know all in good 
time!” and Trelawney was forced to content 
himself with this assurance. 

Husk had just set in as they left the hotel in 
the fiacre which Livingston had ordered. Tre- 
lawney strained his ears, but could not hear 
the directions which Livingston gave the driver 
in a low voice. 

Down the Rue de Rivoli, teeming with life, 
they drove. Past the dark pile of the Louvre, 
across the Seine, gay with a multitude of lights 
which sparkled along the banks and from every 
steamer that sped along the twisting water- 
way. 

“This is the entrance to the Latin Quarter,” 
remarked Livingston as they reached the fur- 

329 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 

ther bank and turned down the cobbled street 
running parallel to the river. Square in front 
of them rose the twin towers of Notre Dame — 
standing majestic in the dim light and reflect- 
ing its sombre mass in the placid stream. 

A few moments and the cab halted. 

“Here we are,’’ said Livingston cheerily as 
he jumped out. “Now for a dinner fit for a 
king. This is the famous Tour d ’Argent.’’ 

The others, who had been expecting to see a 
gaily lighted restaurant, suffered a distinct 
shock as they entered a small, rather shabby 
inn, the main room of which opened directly on 
the street and except for one other party was 
untenanted. 

Trelawney expressed his disappointment in 
a growl, but was quickly squelched by Bob, who 
gave him an expressive glance behind Livings- 
ton’s back. 

That they were expected was evident, for 
they sat down at once to a delicious soup of 
which the fragrance went far to still Trelaw- 
ney’s grievance. 


330 


A DEBT PAID 


said Livingston expectantly as the 
first course was removed. 

‘‘What is it I’’ asked Bob as Frederic himself 
proudly carried a duck to a little side table. 

“Crushed duck!^’ said Livingston impres- 
sively, and vouchsafed nothing further. 

Frederic deftly dismembered the duck, placed 
the meat on a separate platter and dropped the 
carcass into a small press which stood ready at 
hand. 

A few moments’ cooking on a chafing dish 
for the meat, a few turns of a crank on the press 
and a stream of rich blood, marrow and the 
very essence of delicious duck poured forth, to 
be deftly transferred to the chafing dish that 
stood ready. 

The silence that followed was the best praise 
possible, and Frederic beamed upon his guests. 

Trelawney’s imaginary grievance had floated 
away at the first mouthful, and he looked with 
favor upon Frederic hustling round to prepare 
a second supply. 

“Well, that is. good!” he managed to mum- 
331 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


ble between mouthfuls. ‘‘I had no idea an 
ordinary duck could be transformed into such 
a delectable article. ’ ' 

^‘Ambrosia!’’ suggested Newton. 

thought you would like it/’ said Livings- 
ton. ‘‘I noticed that Trel did not seem to 
think much of the place at first, but the food 
makes up for the surroundings.” 

don’t think the surroundings need any 
apology,” said Bob, slowly scrutinizing the 
room. ^‘It is very quaint. These panelled 
walls, these rough tables and chairs might be- 
long to Villon’s day. I like it.” 

Livingston was repaid for his trouble by this 
ready appreciation, and he and Bob soon be- 
came involved in a discussion of ancient Paris. 

An hour later it was a contented quartet that 
strolled out into the night and hailed the first 
passing fiacre. 

‘‘Now where?” asked Newton as they took 
their seats. 

“Place de la Concorde,” returned Livings- 

332 


A DEBT PAID 


ton. ‘‘If there is anything going on we will 
find it there, and I suppose you are all looking 
for trouble!’’ 

There was a chorus of assent. 

“Well, then, we can’t do better. Personally 
I don’t care about the adventures, but I’ll stand 
by while you have your Odyssey.” 

“Listen to him!” jeered Trelawney. “You 
might think he was fifty! I’ll wager he won’t 
sidestep any adventures that come his way!” 

The cab rattled over the stones till it turned 
across the Pont Neuf, that famous bridge span- 
ning the Seine under the shadow of Notre Dame 
and which belies its name, being now the old- 
est bridge in Paris. 

As they drove down the Eue de Eivoli their 
progress was impeded by the crowd of car- 
riages and pedestrians which filled the streets 
and their driver was compelled to bring his 
horse to a walk. Finally, as they neared the 
Tuilleries, further advance became impossible 
for the moment, and Trelawney grew restive. 
333 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


‘‘I move we get out and walk/^ he proposed, 
after a wait of a few minutes. ‘‘We’ll never 
get anywhere at this rate!” 

“We might as well,” assented Livingston, 
after he had stood up in the cab and looked 
ahead. “The street is jammed as far as I can 
see and our destination is only a couple of 
blocks away at most.” 

A generous pourboire reconciled the driver 
to the loss of his fares, and descending, the four 
friends were quickly engulfed in the crowd. 

“We had better link arms, two and two,” 
called Livingston over his shoulder after strug- 
gling along for a few feet. “We will be sep- 
arated otherwise without fail.” 

As they advanced the crowd, which was mov- 
ing freely where they had first alighted, became 
more closely packed, and progress was a ques- 
tion of picking openings rather than one of 
strength. 

The square was a blaze of light overhead, 
which shone on a heaving mass of people mov- 
ing aimlessly here and there. 

334 


'A DEBT PAID 

Bob thought he had never seen anything more 
beautiful than th^ vista which opened to him 
as they pushed their way along the west wall 
of the Tuilleries, and he was able to see the 
length of the Champs Elysee. 

The broad avenue was a river of humanity, 
bordered on either side by dark masses of 
foliage, rendered luminous by festoons of 
countless lights. Through the trees shone the 
gay lamps of the various cafes-chantants and 
occasionally above the tumult could be heard 
the lilt of music. At the far end of the avenue 
loomed the arch, picked out against the sky 
by a myriad of stars and looking not unlike 
some monster with gaping mouth preparing to 
swallow the ever flowing stream which passed 
his jaws. 

With their backs against the wall, protected 
from the press, they stood for some time watch- 
ing the crowd with interest. 

Here and there, almost unable to move, were 
several cabs, which, having been caught in the 
eddy, were compelled to take whatever direc- 
335 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


tion the crowd allowed them. Directly in front 
of where Bob was standing two cabs were con- 
verging, the drivers urging on their bewildered 
beasts with hand and month. 

They were typical Paris cabs, a little down 
in the springs, with shabby upholstering and 
weary horses. One driver wore a blue coat, 
the other a brown, but there the differences 
stopped. Each wore the regulation white 
glazed hat and each was fat and each had a red 
nose, while the flow of invective which issued 
from their mouths must have been learned in 
the same school. 

Whether from carelessness or indifference, 
while Bob gazed at them idly, the two cabs col- 
lided with locked wheels. 

‘‘Sacre canaille I Watch where you are 
going!” 

‘‘Son of a pig!’’ 

The drivers glared at each other for a mo- 
ment, then with one accord each dropped his 
reins, seized his whip and began to belabor his 
adversary. 


336 


A DEBT PAID 


The whip of a Parisian cab-driver is meant 
for use, and when a blow got home it meant 
punishment. Standing up to get a full swing, 
they made the air sing with the swish of the 
lashes. 

The crowd was delighted. It surged round 
the two cabs for a moment, each individual try- 
ing for a front seat at this free entertainmont, 
and then urged the fighters on. 

‘‘Go it. Blue Coat!’’ 

“Well struck. Brownie! Dust his jacket for 
him!” 

“Aha! That was a shrewd one. See him 
wince ! ’ ’ 

The first blows, in truth, did bring out the 
dust, but it was not long before blood also 
showed. Blue coat had a gashed cheek, while 
Brownie’s coat was cut to ribbons by the terri- 
ble hail of blows. 

For a few moments the fight was equal. Bob 
looked in vain for the police, but not a gen- 
d’arme could force his way to the scene of con- 
flict through that closely packed crowd. 

337 


^ JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


^‘Crack!’’ 

Brownie’s whip had broken and with a yell 
of triumph Blue Coat redoubled his assaults. 
Defenseless, Brownie covered his face in his 
arms and tried to escape the punishment, hut 
in vain. Blue Coat was remorseless, and sud- - 
denly the other with a howl of dismay seized his 
reins and, prodding his horse with the butt of 
his whip, urged him out of range. 

There was a long jeering laugh from the 
crowd, a laugh of content at the completeness 
of the bloody spectacle, surely descended from 
the singers of Ca ira, and then the incident was 
forgotten. 

‘‘That was a nice sight, wasn’t it?” remarked 
Livingston with disgust as they joined the once 
more moving throng. 

Trelawney roused himself with a shiver. 

“Sort of fascinating in a way,” he said, and 
relapsed into silence. 

“Whether it is due to that fight or not,” re^ 
marked Bob a little later, “I don’t know, but 

338 


^ DEBT PAID 

the temper of this crowd is certainly getting 
worse.’’ 

‘ ‘ I think so, too, ’ ’ agreed Livingston. ‘ ‘ Let ’s 
make for the Champs Elysee, where we can get 
seats.” 

When, earlier in the evening, the crowd had 
moved aimlessly about at a uniform speed, now 
ripples of movement from time to time eddied 
through the square. But instead of subsiding 
like ordinary ripples they grew more violent 
as they continued, and soon the multitude was 
swaying from side to side as though ready at 
any moment to break into an engulfing wave. 

The four had not reached the obelisk which 
stands in the center of the square when an es- 
pecially heavy eddy separated Livingston from 
the others. 

He pressed forward, but every movement 
widened the distance, and he soon lost sight of 
all but Trelawney’s head. Hoping to rejoin 
them on the further side of the square, he 
forced his way on, but was suddenly distracted 
339 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


from his purpose by the sound of his native 
tongue. 

The speaker had his back towards him and 
was apparently in distress, for Livingston 
caught the words, ‘^Give me room, confound 
you, give me room! Can’t you see the lady has 
fainted!” 

Though no athlete, Livingston was far from 
being a weakling, and the intervening French- 
men shrank back from his sudden onslaught. 
The crowd jostled him roughly, hut he pushed 
on, squirming and forcing his way through, un- 
til a last lurch of the crowd sent him stumbling 
against the object of his search. 

“Can I help you!” he said quickly, and with- 
out waiting for an answer he bent over a white 
figure which lay half supported in the man’s 
arms. One glance was enough. It was the girl 
of the dock! 

“These confounded cowards nearly threw her 
down a moment ago, and the fright turned her 
faint,” the girl’s father said hurriedly. “Can 
you help me to get her out of this ! ’ ’ 

340 


A DEBT PAID 


Livingston instantly slipped his arm into that 
of the girl, who was struggling to stand upright, 
and with her father supporting her on the other 
side, they began a slow march towards the foun- 
tains under the obelisk, where they might hope 
to find a corner of refuge. 

It was slow work. Time and again the quick 
surges of the mob nearly threw Livingston off 
his feet, and it was only by using now his best 
French, now the sharp edge of his elbow, that 
they were able to proceed at all. It was no 
time to stand on ceremony, for once down no 
man could have hoped to regain his feet in that 
half-crazed multitude. 

^‘We will be there in a moment, Eleanor,’’ 
said her father, encouragingly, as he fought 
along. ‘‘One more effort! At last!” This 
was uttered in a tone of honest relief, for the 
fountain was reached, and placing the girl in a 
niche the two men stood guard over her. 

A little water sprinkled in her face soon made 
her the same self-possessed girl she had been 
when she pulled Livingston from under the 

341 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


falling trunk. Her father looked anxiously at 
her and then at the sea of faces that surrounded 
them on all sides. 

have got to get her out of this, but I would 
hate to try it just now,^’ he said. 

‘Ht would be useless to try it, sir,” returned 
Livingston quickly. ^Ht was nip and tuck get- 
ting this far!” 

must thank you for your timely assistance 
at any rate. I didn^t see much hope a few 
moments ago.” 

was only too glad,” said Livingston 
briefly, ‘^but it helped me to repay what I 
owed.” 

The other looked up quickly, puzzled for the 
moment. 

^‘What — ^why, you are — ” 

‘^Yes, I am the fellow your daughter saved 
a month ago, so no thanks are due me.” He 
looked anxiously into the crowd. 

‘Hf I could only see my friends somewhere, 
we would be all right,” he said, and climbed 
onto the stone carving of the fountain. 

342 


^ DEBT PAID 


He peered in every direction for some mo- 
ments, then gave a cry of relief. 

‘^Hey! Trelawney! Trelawney!’’ he yelled at 
the top of his lungs, and waved his arms in the, 
air. His hat had long since disappeared. Tre- 
lawney, who was some distance away, turned 
his head, but it was not till Bob also turned 
that Livingston was located. 

‘^Come here!’’ yelled Livingston, beckoning 
with both arms, and then as his friends seemed 
to hesitate he added the magic word, ‘‘Help!” 

“Come on, Trel!” said Bob excitedly, “Liv’s 
in trouble. Quick!” 

Trelawney linked an arm with each of his 
companions, and heading the V thus formed, the 
three plunged ahead. 

Trelawney ’s massive frame made openings 
where there were none, and when his weight 
was not sufficient Bob and Newton added the 
extra push which cleared the way. 

The crowd, not understanding the reason of 
their haste, resented this, attack and only lack of 
room prevented a free fight. As it was, Tre-i 
343 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


lawney got more than one crack on his head 
and the coats of all three were qnickly ripped. 

^‘What’s the trouble, Liv!’’ asked the big 
guard as the last human barrier gave way and 
the rescuers came upon the beleaguered ones. 

‘‘Girl fainted,’’ returned Livingston briefly. 
“Must get her out of this. Do you think we 
can do it?” 

“Sure!” said Trelawney confidently. 
“Which way?” 

The V formed once more with the girl, sup- 
ported as before, in the center, and they made 
for the shelter of the Champs Elysee. Not 
being in such a hurry this time, Trelawney was 
able to make better weather of it, and beyond 
being squeezed rather tightly once or twice, the 
passage was made without discomfort or dan- 
ger. Once on the sidewalk the crowd was un- 
der better control, and without much difficulty 
they skirted the square until they reached the 
Rue Gambon, down which they went. 

In this quiet by-street introductions took 

344 


A DEBT PAID 

place all round, with many assurances of grati- 
tude. 

‘‘I can only repeat my thanks before saying 
good night,’’ concluded Mr. Everett, but Liv- 
ingston insisted upon seeing them to their ho- 
tel. 

‘‘It’s no trouble, sir!” he persisted, and so 
the cavalcade resumed its way to the Hotel 
Eoyal. 

“That makes us quits,” said Eleanor Ever- 
ett, smiling at Livingston as he said good night 
at the entrance. “I hope the next time we meet 
it will be under quieter auspices,” she added, 
giving him a grateful glance, and the four 
knights-errant resumed their journey home- 
ward. 

On the steps of the Continental they halted. 
Paris was going home and the great day was 
over. 

“What did I say,” asked Trelawney quizzic- 
ally. “Wasn’t Liv the only one to have an ad- 
venture?” 


345 


A JUNIOR IN THE LINE 


seems to me you were all in it/’ retorted 
Livingston. 

‘^Oli, no!” said Trelawney. ‘‘We were only 
the supes. Y ou were It I ” 

A big dinner was coming to an end in the 
United States building at the Exposition. 

A Senator, famous for his after-dinner 
speeches, had just closed a graceful tribute to 
the all conquering heroes from the States and 
the building still echoed with the applause 
which had greeted his words. 

Chairs were being pushed back, and the din- 
ers gathering in small groups. The hum of 
conversation becoming general rose throughout 
the room, when four figures stepped out onto 
the terrace. 

The Seine lay below them glistening in the 
moonlight and reflecting the countless lights 
which dotted the Exposition. The walks were 
thronged with black figures, brought into start- 
ling relief every moment or so, by the search 
light on the Eiffel Tower, which swept the 
grounds in a long pencil of light. 

346 


A DEBT PAID 


‘‘It has been good fun, basnet it, fellows T’ 
said Bob Walters, as be gazed over tbe bril- 
liant city. “Liv here was quite a remarkable 
manager, too!’’ 

Trelawney nodded. “You and Newt ought 
to be well satisfied,” be said, “with your gold 
medals.” 

“We are,” said Newton, promptly. 

“But I wish I could have beaten old John- 
son, ’ ’ continued tbe big guard, pensively. 

No one spoke for a moment, then Livingston 
turned suddenly to Bob. 

“A penny for your thoughts. Captain Wal- 
ters I ” be said, meaningly. ‘ ‘ Now confess 1 ’ ’ 

Bob laughed. 

“How did you guess, Liv? You’re right! I 
was planning how to beat Essex next fall!” 


347 


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